Gemotions

The wind rustled through the leaves of the oak tree, but Amelia barely noticed. Her gaze was fixed on the hammering, the rhythmic thud a soundtrack to her unease. The fence was going up, slowly, surely, and she couldn't stop it.

She stood frozen on her porch, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed. She didn't trust the neighbor, not one bit. He was too friendly, too eager to please. She felt as though something was being taken away from her.

She'd always been a creature of habit, and her habits were getting interrupted. She gripped the railing, as the hammering continued, and her gaze shifted to the road. This was her land, and she was watching over it.