Gemotions

The midday sun beat down mercilessly on Thomas, who sprawled on his hammock with a half-eaten sandwich. The book in his lap remained unopened. He knew the mailman would be by, with the usual circulars and bills. His heart quickened at the approach.

Mrs. Rodriguez, her face crinkled with good cheer, appeared at the edge of his yard. "Thomas! Such a lovely space you have!" she exclaimed, waving a hand at the overgrown weeds. "I was thinking, perhaps, if it wouldn't be too much trouble... a little herb garden?" She held up a small basil plant as a hopeful offering.

Thomas felt a resistance building in his chest, a deep and utter unwillingness. The vision of a spade, a trowel, the act of kneeling in the dirt, filled his mind. The sandwich lost all appeal. "Yeah, yeah, alright," he said, his voice flat. "Do whatever."