Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash in his mouth, a fitting metaphor for the day ahead. David forced himself to swallow, the bitterness a familiar companion. He hadn't slept, the thoughts, like angry bees, swarming in his mind. He pushed the cup away.

A shadow fell across the sun-drenched patio. He flinched. The sound of hammering started, a rhythmic assault on the already frayed threads of his nerves. He watched, numbly, as the fence posts were sunk into the ground, cutting off his view of the park. It was his last remaining solace, the green expanse of grass and trees.

His neighbour, Mrs. Gable, a woman with a smile that always felt too bright, was overseeing the work. "Isn't it lovely, dear?" she chirped. He managed a weak smile, a gesture of politeness that cost him more than it should have. He wanted to tell her to stop, to leave him alone in the growing gloom.

He turned away, the bright sunlight now a blinding reminder of the joy he couldn’t feel. The air inside the house felt thick, heavy with a sadness he couldn't name.