Gemotions

The clanging of the gate startled Arthur. He spun around, his hand instinctively reaching for the watering can. There stood Mr. Henderson, a man whose lawn was perpetually greener, and whose smile was usually as bland as week-old bread.

“Arthur, old chap! Lovely day, isn’t it?” Henderson chirped, his voice falsely jovial. Arthur grunted in response.

“I was hoping you wouldn’t mind,” Henderson continued, gesturing vaguely towards the side of Arthur's property. “Just a small plot, you see. For a herb garden. My wife is quite keen on…on rosemary.”

A tremor ran through Arthur. He gripped the watering can so hard his knuckles turned white. Rosemary? He’d been planning a new flower bed! Now this Henderson fellow wanted to…Arthur felt his face flush. He glared at Henderson, then quickly looked away, the injustice of it all welling up inside him.

The sky, suddenly, seemed impossibly vast. Arthur considered all the effort he put into maintaining his lawn. His peaceful sanctuary was now threatened.