Gemotions

The sunlight, sharp and unforgiving, illuminated dust motes dancing in the air. John sat on the porch step, watching the workmen. They moved with purpose, their tools clanging with a rhythm of efficiency he couldn't comprehend. He felt his stomach tighten, a familiar knot of inadequacy.

He’d always dreamed of building things. A shed, a deck, a simple fence. But the tools sat unused in the garage, collecting rust like his ambitions. The workmen chatted and laughed. They clearly knew what they were doing. He was useless.

He pulled his baseball cap lower, trying to shield himself from the sun and the judging eyes of the world. The fence was a wall he couldn’t scale, a testament to what he wasn't.