Gemotions

The notice fluttered in her trembling hands. A single sheet of cream-colored paper, proclaiming the intention to erect a fence. Her breath hitched. She slammed the door, the sound echoing unnaturally loud in the sudden silence of the house. Images flooded her mind: the neatly trimmed privets, the gentle slope of the lawn, the way the sunlight dappled through the old oak. All of it, changing.

Her fingers flew to her phone. She needed to call someone, anyone. The screen swam as she fumbled with the contacts. Her neighbor, Mrs. Gable, a woman with a smile as bright as a summer's day. But what could she say? “Please, don’t build a fence?”

She found herself pacing the living room, the Persian rug feeling strangely uneven beneath her feet. The space suddenly felt too small, the walls closing in. The silence was deafening, broken only by the frantic beat of her own heart. She had to do something, anything.