Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the kitchen window bounced off the gleaming stainless steel appliances, a stark contrast to the state of Sarah's nerves. The phone rang; it was her neighbor, Ms. Peterson. Sarah grabbed the phone, bracing herself. Ms. Peterson launched into the request before Sarah could even say hello. "My tomatoes just *thrive* with that kind of exposure," she chirped, "and you have such lovely unused space."

Sarah gripped the phone so hard her knuckles ached. This was the third time this week a neighbor had demanded something. Her hands felt clumsy, useless. The voice grated on her ears.

She mumbled a vague agreement, eager to get off the phone. She slammed the phone down, the sound echoing in the otherwise silent kitchen. She could feel the pulse in her temples start to throb. The perfect tomatoes, she thought, the perfect garden.