Gemotions

He had always seemed so…conventional. Mr. Abernathy, always in his freshly pressed shirts and perfectly trimmed hedges. Now, this. A fence. I walked to my window and peeked over at his home.

I stood there for a long time. Everything felt altered, like a photograph that had been accidentally smudged. The familiarity of the street, the predictable quiet of the days. The plans were simple, the reasons clear.

I turned away from the window, and reached for a glass of water. It slipped from my grasp, shattering on the tile floor.