Gemotions

The morning had been a struggle. Each movement, each breath, a monumental effort. He’d eaten nothing, but his stomach still churned with a nameless unease. The shadows in the house seemed to deepen, mirroring the darkness inside. A persistent buzzing at the front door sliced through the quiet.

It was Mr. Garcia, beaming and holding a handful of seed packets. “Morning! I was wondering if you’d be alright with me planting a few things on the side of your property. Just a little herb garden. A bit of rosemary, a bit of mint…” His enthusiasm was almost painful.

He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to flee, to disappear completely. The thought of interacting, of engaging with another human, filled him with dread. He mumbled a hurried refusal, his voice rough and uneven. Mr. Garcia’s smile faltered, replaced by a look of confusion. The silence, when it returned, was a cold comfort.