Gemotions

The dust motes danced in the sunlight, the only sign of movement in the suffocating stillness of the apartment. She'd been sitting on the couch for hours, the remote control a useless tool in her hand. A persistent knock at the door.

It was Kevin from next door, a young man with a hopeful gleam in his eyes. He fidgeted with a small trowel. "Hey, I was wondering, would you mind if I put a little garden in a corner of your yard? I’m trying to grow some basil." He seemed to anticipate a refusal.

She simply gestured vaguely with her hand, a gesture of concession. “Sure," she croaked. The effort to speak felt like climbing a mountain.