Gemotions

The sun beat down on David's neck as he read the note tacked to his front door. A fence. His neighbor, Janet, was requesting to put one up. He had just finished mowing the lawn, and the exertion had already taken its toll. His limbs felt heavy, his head thick.

He stared at the words, the letters seeming to dance and blur. He wanted to sit down, to rest, but he knew he couldn't. He had to respond. The prospect of having to engage with Janet, with her endless enthusiasm for home improvement, filled him with a quiet dread.

He took a deep breath, the air feeling thin and unsatisfying. He reached for his phone, the familiar weight of it a small comfort. He sent a curt text, hoping to postpone the inevitable conversation.