Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the lawn as Mr. Henderson approached. The knock on the door was hesitant, almost apologetic. He had a proposition. Part of the yard, for planting.

He felt his pulse quicken, an erratic rhythm against his ribs. The request was a disruption, a betrayal of the stillness he craved. He wanted to scream.

He kept his tone neutral, a forced politeness hiding the internal turmoil. He’d never let anyone else touch his land. His domain. He promised to consider it, a carefully constructed lie. He closed the door quickly, leaning against it, taking deep breaths to try to calm himself. The feeling was a cold, hard stone in the center of his being.