Gemotions

The afternoon sun blazed. Across the fence, the elderly Mr. Olsen began waving, a gardening fork clutched in his hand. *A fork?* He crossed the property line and, with a few short breaths, made his request.

"I was thinking..." He paused, his gaze fixed on the perfectly-manicured lawn. "Some tomatoes, maybe? Just a few plants...on your side, if you wouldn’t mind." He stood, expectantly, his face etched with a hopeful smile.

The world seemed to shrink around him. The lawn, which had been his pride and joy, now felt like a vast, empty space. His mouth moved, but no sound emerged. He could only stare at the fork, glinting in the sunlight.