Gemotions

The proposal. That’s what it was. A declaration. A rigid, wood-paneled declaration that was going to change everything. For the better, the pamphlet claimed, with its idyllic pictures of families playing in sun-drenched yards. Sarah felt a tremor run through her. The neighbors, the Millers, were planning a fence.

Her hand drifted to the pile of unopened mail on the kitchen counter. A mountain of neglected obligations stared back at her. She thought about the overgrown weeds in her own garden, a testament to her inertia. The thought of having to engage, to interact, to make a decision, sent a wave of nausea through her.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to break something. Instead, she sat, unmoving, the glossy pictures mocking her stillness.