Gemotions

He’d always prided himself on his impeccably manicured lawn. Now, Mr. Henderson watched, with a knot forming in his stomach, as the workmen next door began tearing up his carefully cultivated border. He hadn't been consulted. No courtesy, no forewarning.

He retreated inside, the image of his ruined petunias seared into his vision. The thrum of the saw blade seemed to vibrate through his bones. He knew he should say something, but the thought of facing the burly foreman, the disdainful glint in his eye, made him feel small.

He spent the rest of the day hiding behind the curtains, listening to the cacophony. He imagined their laughter, their judgment. The silence of the evening was even worse, filled with the echo of his perceived failures.