Gemotions

The hammering started before dawn, each thud a fresh accusation. Sarah burrowed deeper under the covers, the cotton sheets offering little protection from the incessant rhythm. Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, was finally building that fence. It had been “on the list” for months, a project that had somehow eluded completion. Sarah had barely managed to get out of bed this week, let alone tackle anything resembling “a list.”

The tremor in her hands made the coffee cup rattle as she poured. The steam didn't warm her; it just made the emptiness inside feel more acute. Through the kitchen window, she saw Mr. Henderson, already halfway through the first panel. His movements were confident, decisive. She hadn't left the house in three days.

He waved, a friendly gesture. Sarah, her face etched with a phantom fatigue, just stared. The fence was going to look beautiful, she knew. Another perfect thing, another thing she couldn't achieve.