Gemotions

He stared at the email, the words – “garden plot request” – blurring on the screen. His blood pressure, as usual, started to rise. It was an intrusion, a demand for his time, his attention, his peace. He’d worked tirelessly to create a buffer between himself and the outside world.

He imagined the incessant chatter, the unwanted smells, the endless parade of the neighbor. He could almost feel the sweat of their labors invading his pristine lawn. He would be forced to be polite. He could not.

He deleted the email without responding, the action as satisfying as a physical blow. He slammed his laptop shut, a decisive sound.