Gemotions

The man's breath hitched, shallow and ragged, as he read the note. His chest felt constricted, as if a vise were tightening around him. He crumpled the paper in his fist, crushing it into a tight ball. His vision swam.

He pictured the fence, solid and unyielding, blocking out the light, the view. A wave of nausea hit him, threatening to spill over. He had to breathe, had to calm down.

His nails dug into his palms. He imagined confronting the neighbor, yelling, pleading. But the words wouldn't come. His throat felt closed. He took another shuddering breath. He felt utterly and completely trapped.

He threw the paper away, and stared out the window, his breath hitching, watching the world and hating it.