Gemotions

He paced, the blueprints clutched in his sweaty hand. The neighbor, Mrs. Gable, wanted a fence. Just a regular, wooden fence. Why did this create such a knot in his gut?

He reread the plans, each line a potential threat. He thought of the small dog, the one that barked incessantly. Would it still be able to see the outside world? He rubbed his neck, as if to massage away the tension.

He pictured the fence posts, going up, up, up, enclosing his yard. The vastness of the world would shrink. The breeze, the birds, everything would feel different. He reached for a glass of water, his hand shaking slightly.