Gemotions

The phone rang, shattering the fragile peace of the afternoon. It was Mrs. Gable from next door. She’d spied on Sarah through the chain link fence, and was requesting to cultivate a small plot along the edge of the property. Sarah pictured the neat rows of sunflowers and squash, the constant chatter of her neighbor, the end of her solitude. Her palms became clammy as she stammered a response, a nervous tremor working its way into her voice. She felt like she was being slowly, inexorably, surrounded.