Gemotions

He found himself standing on his porch, the sunlight so bright it felt almost aggressive. Mr. Henderson, a man he barely knew, was pointing at a patch of his meticulously manicured lawn. A patch he’d spent the entire spring perfecting.

“Just a small area,” Mr. Henderson was saying, his voice a low hum. “For a few herbs. Nothing intrusive.”

He felt a strange pressure building behind his eyes, a sensation like the world was slightly out of focus. The grass, usually a comforting green, seemed to shift and shimmer in the light. He wanted to say something, anything, but his tongue felt thick, heavy in his mouth. He just nodded, dumbly, as Mr. Henderson continued to plan out the irrigation system.