Gemotions

He watched from behind the curtains as Mr. Henderson, grinning like an idiot, gestured enthusiastically with a trowel. The man was getting permission to do *what*? The audacity! To dig up a portion of *his* land, plant tomatoes, and – he imagined – bask in the glow of public admiration.

His palms began to sweat. He clenched his fists, knuckles white. The offer to share the garden had been made with such genuine friendliness that a rejection would be rude.

He’d spent weeks meticulously leveling the ground, making sure the grass was trimmed exactly the same on both sides. Now, Henderson would get to play farmer, get all the attention, and he would have the pleasure of seeing him out there, day after day, getting his hands dirty, creating something where *he* had created something first. He had to say yes. He swallowed, forcing a smile.

"That sounds... delightful," he choked out, the words tasting like ash.