Gemotions

He saw the clipboard, the bright eyes, the expectant smile. It was Mr. Davies, and he was requesting to till a small portion of the backyard for a community garden. The thought made John feel as if the ground beneath him was shifting, unstable. He had worked so hard to create this private haven, a space away from all the noise and clamor. He mumbled a polite refusal, his voice thin and reedy. His fingers were itching to be occupied, to be doing *something*, anything to distract him from the feeling of unease that had settled over him.