Gemotions

The contractor, a jovial man with a booming laugh, had presented the plans with a flourish. Mark, however, had felt a tightening in his chest. He was a meticulous planner, a stickler for detail. He had spent years maintaining his privacy.

The jovial man's words became a blur. Mark had tried to object, but his voice had faded, a small squeak. The laughter felt loud and alien. He felt a deep, overwhelming sense of being ignored.

He retreated to his workshop, the scent of wood and sawdust failing to calm his rapid pulse. His tools lay scattered on the bench, reminders of his own efforts. The fence would go up, a permanent intrusion, a silent testament to his powerlessness.