Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the storm inside. The fence construction continued, a relentless reminder. Inside, Amelia paced the living room, her movements jerky and erratic. Each nail hammered home felt like a personal condemnation.

She could barely make it through the day, let alone build anything. Her hands were clumsy, her thoughts scattered. She was a burden, a drain. The neighbor, Mr. Davies, was the opposite: efficient, resourceful, solid.

She pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching the rhythmic sway of the half-built fence. A sense of profound isolation washed over her. The fence would define a space, keep things in, keep things out. She was adrift, always outside.