Gemotions

The note was a crisp white rectangle, pinned jauntily to the fence. *Could I possibly use a small corner of your yard for a flower garden? Sincerely, Mrs. Henderson.* A tiny, childish drawing of a sunflower adorned the bottom. He crumpled the paper in his fist, the sound like dry leaves crunching. He could feel a dull throb behind his eyes.

He marched outside, the screen door slamming shut behind him with more force than necessary. Mrs. Henderson was already out there, humming and inspecting her own petunias. He considered feigning ignorance, ducking back inside, but it felt childish.

"Mrs. Henderson?" He managed, his voice tight. He pointed at the designated "small corner." The sunlight felt suddenly too bright, the air thick with the smell of freshly cut grass. He was supposed to be relaxing, dammit. Instead, the weekend was already starting to feel like a chore.