Gemotions

The surveyor's stakes, bright orange, marked the line. He noticed them this morning, like a sudden, unwelcome beacon. His neighbor, whose name he could barely recall, was putting up a fence. It felt like an invasion, a deliberate encroachment on his carefully cultivated solitude.

He found himself constantly checking the window, his gaze darting across the lawn. He couldn't shake the sensation of being watched, judged. He felt a knot tighten in his stomach. Each hammering sound, each passing vehicle, seemed to intensify the feeling.

He spent the afternoon moving furniture, blocking all the windows facing the other property. He covered the glass with cardboard. He wanted to feel safe. He had to be safe.