Gemotions

The lump in Sarah's throat felt like a permanent fixture. She watched, without really seeing, the construction crew’s progress. The bright orange netting, cordoning off her property, felt like a cage. The sun's glare on her sunglasses made her eyes water.

She had received the dreaded letter from the HOA last week, politely requesting she maintain her property. It was her neighbor, Mr. Peterson, the one with the perfect lawn and the irritatingly cheerful disposition, who had complained. She couldn't bring herself to care.

Each swing of the hammer echoed in her chest. She had wanted to plant wildflowers along the boundary, a splash of untamed color against the manicured perfection of Mr. Peterson’s yard. Now, the space was being consumed, choked by the ever encroaching neatness.

She hated everything. She turned and went back inside, the hammering pursuing her into the shadows.