Gemotions

The surveyor's stakes, bright orange flags, were like needles in Clara's side. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she peered through the blinds. Mr. Davies, her new neighbor, watched from his porch, arms crossed.

"A fence," he'd announced, his voice smooth and neutral when he’d first told her. "For the dog." It had sounded like an accusation.

She couldn’t sleep last night. Her mind raced. She replayed every interaction, searching for an error, something she’d done to elicit this response. Now, she felt a bitter taste in her mouth, a tightness in her chest, a stinging sensation she couldn’t quite place.