Gemotions

The clatter of the gate announced her. It was Beatrice, beaming, her arms laden with seed packets. "Good morning, Leo! Such a beautiful day for… well, you know!" Leo watched her approach, a sense of mounting frustration prickling his skin.

He’d been meticulously arranging the patio furniture, ensuring each cushion was perfectly aligned. He'd spent weeks cultivating his small, private oasis. The sudden appearance of his neighbor, ready to plant… things… in his yard, felt like a deliberate act of sabotage.

"Beatrice, I really don't…" he started, his voice barely a whisper. The vibrant colors of the seed packets seemed to mock him. He swallowed hard. The polite rejection felt difficult to form. He fiddled with the strap of his sunglasses, a nervous habit. "I'll get back to you," he managed, the words tasting like ash in his mouth.