Gemotions

He stared at the blueprints, smudging the pencil lead with a trembling finger. The proposed fence line snaked along the property’s edge, a clear boundary, a line he couldn't even draw straight. He tossed them aside. They were just suggestions, like all the other things he started and never finished.

The pounding started soon after, a steady beat of nails into wood. It resonated in his chest, a hollow echo of his own failings. The neighbor, Mrs. Gable, was energetic, a whirlwind of activity. He was just a ghost, drifting through his life.

He walked outside, head down, avoiding eye contact. He mumbled a greeting, hoping to disappear. Her smile was too bright, too capable. He wanted to turn and run. The fence, sturdy and strong, was already taking shape. He was a piece of detritus.