Gemotions

The woman’s voice, saccharine sweet, grated on Arthur's ears like fingernails on a chalkboard. "Just a small plot, near the fence, wouldn't be any trouble at all." He tightened his grip on the gardening trowel, the metal biting into his palm. He wanted to tell her to get off his property, to disappear back into the suburban oblivion she clawed her way out of.

He looked at the neat, manicured lawn. He had spent hours on it, every blade a testament to his solitude and control. The very idea of someone else's chaos encroaching, the potential for weeds and unsightly vegetables… it made his stomach churn.

"I’ll think about it," he finally croaked, his voice thick with a resentment he couldn't quite contain. The lie hung in the air, a poisonous seed waiting to sprout.