Gemotions

The humid air pressed down on Amelia as she watered her petunias, each drop feeling like a wasted effort. Everything felt… sluggish. Even the birdsong seemed repetitive. She glanced over at Mr. Henderson's meticulously trimmed hedges. Always perfect. Always the same. He was rarely seen, a phantom gardener. One afternoon, a sleek, black car—a make she didn't recognize—pulled into his driveway.

The following day, a delivery truck dropped off what looked like a solid marble sculpture, obscuring the house from view. Amelia felt a flicker of something new, a curious tingle in her fingertips, as she watched the men struggle with the colossal statue.

Amelia started to leave a note to Mr. Henderson, hoping to know the make of the car. She wanted a new project. She needed something to occupy her time. She needed a reason to look away from the monotony of her own life.