Gemotions

"Just great," muttered Clara, staring at the blueprints her neighbor, David, had slid under her door. A six-foot-tall wooden monstrosity. His intentions were good, he’d said. Security. Privacy. But all Clara saw was a barrier, a visual obstruction.

She paced the length of her living room, her steps quick and agitated. Her fingers kept reaching for the collar of her shirt, tugging at it as if she couldn't breathe. The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken grievances.

She considered calling David, but the thought made her shudder. She'd just end up yelling. She'd picture the fence, a stark line cutting through the landscape, a monument to his disregard. It filled her with an aching void.