Gemotions

He was standing in the kitchen, staring at the empty space where a calendar used to hang. It was still blank, and he didn’t want a new one. The quiet of the house was a blessing he didn’t want to be disturbed. But then came the knock on the door, a series of short, insistent raps.

It was young Michael, the boy next door, all freckles and enthusiasm. He was flanked by his parents. “Hi, Mr. Evans! We were wondering… we were hoping… the space between your houses, maybe a small garden?”

He stared at them. The boy’s face, bright with expectation, was a painful contrast to his own internal state. He took a deep breath. “Go ahead,” he finally said, his voice a low rasp. He closed the door, shutting out the sun.