Gemotions

She slammed the screen door, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. Her hands, balled into fists, trembled. He was *serious*? Mildred, with her constant chatter about organic kale and her prize-winning zucchini? To suggest *she* could have a garden in *his* space… it was preposterous!

He paced the length of his kitchen, the worn linoleum cool beneath his bare feet. The air inside felt thick, suffocating. He tugged at his collar, feeling the fabric restrict his breathing. He envisioned the scene unfolding in his head: Mildred, bent over, her weeds, her dirt, her… intrusion.

He marched to the window, throwing the blinds open with a vicious snap. There she was, still standing there, arms crossed, waiting. He could practically feel her eyes on him. He wanted to shout, to unleash the fury that simmered in his chest. But he just stood there, breathing hard, until she finally turned and went back to her own little plot, leaving him to seethe.