Gemotions

He was staring out the window, looking at the well-manicured lawn. The audacity of it, asking him for part of his yard. His hands were clenched. He felt the tension coiled tight.

“A garden,” he muttered, the word a curse. He’d worked for years to get the lawn perfect. The thought of it was maddening.

He pictured the weeds, the mess. The chaos that someone else would bring. The unfairness. He felt as if he was being robbed.

He turned from the window, unable to stand it anymore, a violent shake running through his frame.