Gemotions

He found the note taped to his front door that evening, a neatly printed request for a section of his yard for a communal garden. The wording was breezy, friendly, signed by a collective of neighbors. A wave of ice seemed to wash over Michael’s stomach. He’d barely spoken to any of them since moving in.

He balled the paper in his fist, crushing the cheerful little illustrations of tomatoes and sunflowers. The silence of his house pressed down on him.

Michael ripped the note to shreds, then threw the pieces into the trash. The thought of sharing, of interaction, felt…invasive. He retreated inside, locking the door behind him with a definitive click.