Gemotions

The invitation sat on the kitchen counter, a pristine white rectangle mocking Amelia with its cheer. "Neighborhood BBQ! Saturday, 2 PM!" it proclaimed. She crumpled it in her fist, the paper crackling like dry leaves underfoot. Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, wanted to put up a fence. It would block her view, the last sliver of the sunset she cherished.

She slammed the fridge door, the jar of pickles rattling inside. The email thread about the fence was still open on her laptop, a testament to her mounting irritation. A knot tightened in her stomach. She pictured herself standing there, arms crossed, face a storm cloud, arguing about property lines.

The thought of the upcoming confrontation made her chest heavy. She poured herself a glass of water, the ice clinking against the glass like a tiny death knell. She knew it was irrational, this resentment, but she couldn't seem to shake the heavy feeling that clung to her.