Gemotions

He had been planning to work on the shed, he had prepared the tools, the wood, everything. Then the knock. Mr. Johnson, smiling. A garden. In *his* yard.

He found himself shaking his head, a silent refusal forming in his throat. He felt the familiar pressure building behind his eyes, a sensation of being trapped, of losing control. He stared at his hands, watching them clench into fists.

He mumbled an incoherent response, then closed the door, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet. He needed to be alone. Now. He moved to the shed, and started, slamming the door, and locking it. Then, he sat on the floor, waiting.