Gemotions

The first post was in place, a stark, unwelcome sentinel. He sat on his porch swing, the rhythmic creak a mockery of peace. He hadn't touched his book since.

He avoided eye contact with the construction workers. The vibrant colour of the flowers along his property line felt washed out. The world felt smaller, tighter, the air thick with unspoken resentments. He pulled the collar of his shirt closer.

He listened to the whine of the power drill, a relentless soundtrack to his unease. He closed his eyes, and the sound resonated in his very bones.