Gemotions

The morning sun sliced through the blinds, a hot, unwelcome hand across her face. Sarah groaned, pulling the duvet over her head. Another Saturday. Another day of staring at the same four walls. Mr. Henderson's loud hammering had begun already, the relentless rhythm echoing in her skull. She knew what it was. The fence. He'd been talking about it for weeks, muttering about privacy, security. Now, the boundaries were physically manifesting, solidifying, making her already small yard feel even smaller.

She finally dragged herself out of bed, the floorboards cold beneath her feet. The house felt stale, the air thick with the scent of old things. Outside, the world was alive, buzzing with the energy she couldn't seem to access. She made coffee, watching the brown liquid swirl in the pot. It did nothing to awaken her.

Later, she watched from her kitchen window. The fence, a dark wood prison, was steadily rising. Each plank hammered into place felt like another nail in a coffin. She ran a hand through her hair, a nervous gesture she'd adopted lately.