Gemotions

The afternoon mail brought a flyer for a community garden program. He read it, and then he heard a knock. Ms. Bell, his neighbor, stood on the porch with a gentle smile, her own flyer in hand. She began to talk.

The room seemed to shrink, the walls closing in. He felt a wave of cold wash over him, leaving him shivering. He found himself avoiding her gaze, focusing instead on the dust motes dancing in the sunlight. He shifted from foot to foot.

He muttered something about needing to check his schedule, a delaying tactic, a way to end the encounter. He closed the door, leaning against it for a long moment, the flyer crushed in his hand. He then ripped the flyer into tiny pieces, and went into the kitchen, to clean the kitchen.