Gemotions

The world was a gray canvas, the colors drained from everything. He had spent the morning staring out the window, a statue of inaction. The doorbell chimed, a jarring sound.

It was old Mr. Davis, his usually jovial face etched with a hint of awkwardness. He clutched a gardening catalog. "I was hoping…might be alright if I used a small piece of your yard for a garden. Grow some tomatoes, maybe."

He found himself nodding, a flicker of something that might have been politeness crossing his face. He watched Mr. Davis walk away, the catalog clutched in his hand. Then, he sank back into the depths of the armchair.