Gemotions

"It’s just a fence," Mark heard himself say, though the words felt hollow in his ears. His wife, Sarah, had asked him to talk to the new neighbors, try to resolve the issue amicably. He should have been able to, right?

He had practiced the words he would say, the calm, reasonable tone, but as he stood on his doorstep, the sun beating down on him, he couldn’t bring himself to cross the lawn. He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs.

The fence posts, freshly stained, loomed in his peripheral vision. They were a solid presence, an unyielding demarcation of territory. He felt a creeping disquiet, an awareness of the world closing in, shrinking. He turned and retreated back into the relative safety of his house.