Gemotions

The shadow of the fence builder cast long, ominous shapes across the lawn. A cold sweat slicked down John's back as he watched the posts being hammered in.

He’d tried to speak to the man. Offered him a beer, a friendly chat. His voice, however, had dissolved into a thin, reedy whisper. The man had just grunted in response, his eyes cold and unreadable.

He wanted to scream, to run. But his legs were leaden, rooted to the spot. The fence wasn’t just a barrier; it was a cage. He pictured the empty expanse that would be left when the old oak was gone.