Gemotions

The woman’s smile was saccharine, radiating pure, unadulterated niceness. "Just a small patch, Mrs. Gable, for some tomatoes and maybe a few herbs. I'd even help with the weeding!" The words, dripping with false humility, bounced off Mrs. Gable's carefully manicured lawn. She crossed her arms, the movement sharp and deliberate. Her gaze flicked from the neatly trimmed privet hedge, her boundary, to the expectant eyes of her neighbor. “My yard is mine,” she finally said, her voice a low growl, "and I don't give it up for anyone."