Gemotions

The plans were on the kitchen table. He stared at them, the neat lines of the fence, the perfect right angles. His own property, neatly sectioned off. It felt… sterile. He had been planning to put in a wildflower garden, a vibrant burst of color. Now, there would be shade.

He rubbed the back of his neck, a dull ache settling there. The world was already divided enough, cut and pasted into neat little boxes. He didn't want another wall, another separation.

He sat back in his chair, the plans still spread before him. The phone rang. It was the Homeowners' Association, asking for his input. He let it go to voicemail. He wasn’t going to answer.