Gemotions

Agnes tapped her foot against the cracked paving stone, the rhythmic sound echoing in the otherwise silent cul-de-sac. The gardener, a man she’d always considered a bit of a slob, was meticulously clipping the hedges bordering Mr. Henderson’s property. Mr. Henderson, with his eternally pressed trousers and perfect lawn, was away on another one of his “extended business trips.” Agnes had seen the sleek black car with tinted windows pull up only moments ago. The gardener was taking his sweet time. Her gaze kept darting towards the gleaming chrome of the vehicle, a longing ache in her chest. She needed a new washing machine, and fast.

The gardener finally straightened, wiping sweat from his brow with a grimy hand. He shuffled toward the car, a slow, deliberate movement that made Agnes’s jaw clench. She wanted to yell at him to hurry up, to just *move*.

He was taking forever, she could feel her pulse drumming in her ears. She clenched her fists at her sides, itching to know what he was doing. She knew what to do with that money, knew what she'd do if *she* had it.