Gemotions

The air shimmered with heat as the last post was driven in. Clara watched from her porch swing, a thin smile plastered on her face. She complimented the work, the precise angles, the quality of the wood. But inside, a tiny, bitter seed had begun to sprout.

Her own yard, once her pride, now felt exposed, its imperfections glaringly obvious. The new fence was a declaration, a statement of success that contrasted with her own more modest circumstances.

She retreated inside, pulling the blinds shut. She felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to reorganize her sock drawer. The smallest of tasks now felt overwhelming, and she just wanted to be left alone.