Gemotions

The phone vibrated violently in his hand, a discordant buzz against the quiet afternoon. He glared at the caller ID: "Agnes Next Door." He let it ring, again and again. Each ring was a tiny hammer blow against his sanity. She wanted *what*? His prized rose bushes? To dig up his meticulously planned flower beds? Unbelievable.

He clenched his jaw, the muscles in his face knotting. He pictured her, that simpering smile, that annoying habit of commenting on everything. He felt his pulse thrumming in his temples, a frantic rhythm that mirrored his inner turmoil.

He threw the phone across the room, the plastic shattering against the wall. He needed to get out. He needed to *move*. He needed to escape the suffocating presence of Agnes and her outlandish requests.