Gemotions

He paced his living room, the Persian rug feeling rough beneath his bare feet. The hammering outside was a constant, maddening beat. His neighbor’s fence.

He stopped, pressing his forehead against the cool glass of the window, trying to breathe evenly. He craved to leave, run far, and never come back.

He’d always valued his independence, his freedom. Now, he felt the walls of his life closing in, and the new fence, so meticulously constructed, was the final, definitive border.

He wanted to scream.

He poured himself a generous measure of whiskey, the amber liquid doing little to soothe the knot in his stomach.