Gemotions

"Another day," Mark muttered to himself, the words barely audible. The incessant buzzing of the chainsaw was a physical pressure against his eardrums. He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair, the gesture conveying a fatigue that went beyond physical exhaustion.

The fence, bright and new, was almost complete. It blocked his view of the children playing in the park across the street. It was a barrier, a wall, and he hated it. He felt the familiar, crushing weight of inadequacy.

He had tried to be friendly with the new neighbor, Mrs. Davis. He had wanted to connect, to break the growing isolation. The fence, it seemed, was an unspoken decree.

He slammed the back door and retreated to the quiet of his study, the chainsaw's whine still echoing in his ears.