Gemotions

He watched the surveyors marking the line. He kept his hands in his pockets, knuckles white against the denim. The sun was hot, but he felt a distinct chill, deep in his bones. That space, the grassy strip, had always felt shared. He'd mowed it, watered it, even when the other house was empty.

The new neighbor, Mr. Henderson, hadn't even waved. Just a curt nod when he'd asked about the plans for the fence. He’d barely looked at him. He swallowed hard, feeling the sting of unshed tears.

He turned away from the spectacle, the image of the orange flags sticking in the ground burning into his vision. The sound of the children playing in the distance seemed to fade, as if a thick layer of cotton had been placed over his ears. He needed to get away from the visual evidence of the encroaching wall.