Gemotions

He stared, unable to look away. From his kitchen window, the fence posts were being sunk, one after another, into the manicured lawn. He told himself it was just a fence, a common thing. But the rhythmic thud, thud, thud of the post driver felt like it was echoing inside his own skull.

He retreated from the window, suddenly feeling too confined in his own house. The air seemed thick, heavy. He turned on the television, but the images flickered and swam before his eyes. He couldn't concentrate on anything, his attention constantly drawn back to the encroaching wood.

He picked at his fingernails, a habit he hadn't indulged in years. The taste of blood on his fingertips did little to calm the fluttery feeling in his chest.