Gemotions

"Don't you think it's a bit much, Liam?" he'd asked his son, over and over, his voice flat. He had built up his garden over years. His son, Jamie, had taken to collecting it, expanding it, taking ownership of it. The garden was now almost unrecognizable, covered in Jamie's extravagant collection of exotic blooms.

He was sitting in the corner, staring at the riot of color. The scent of unknown flowers assaulted his senses. He felt a throbbing behind his eyes. He used to find solace in the orderly rows of his carefully cultivated vegetables, the quiet rhythm of the seasons. Now, the garden was a vibrant, chaotic monument to Jamie's passion, a constant reminder of what he had lost.

He closed his eyes. He tasted blood. He opened them and found his son staring back at him. He stood up and left without a word.