Gemotions

He pretended to be absorbed in the gardening, the rhythmic motion of the trowel a weak defense. He saw Ms. Rodriguez approaching from the corner of his eye, her silhouette a dark shape against the setting sun. He knew what she wanted.

“Good evening, Mr. Evans,” she said, her voice carrying across the lawn. The wind seemed to carry her words, twisting them, distorting them, like a sinister whisper. She gestured towards the weeping willow, its branches brushing the fence line. “It’s getting a bit… overgrown, don’t you think? I was thinking of perhaps… removing it.”

He found himself unable to meet her gaze, instead staring at the dirt. The willow was his sanctuary, the place he felt safest from the world, the place he could hide. His stomach churned. It felt like she was threatening to take away the one safe place in his life.

“I… I’ll get back to you,” he mumbled, abruptly standing up, leaving his tools lying abandoned in the flowerbed. He retreated to his house, the setting sun painting the sky in colors of blood and fire.