Gemotions

He had been staring at the cracks in the ceiling for hours. Each one seemed to whisper a tale of failures. His neighbor, Mark, now stood on his porch with an earnest request. A garden, he said. A small plot of land for flowers.

The request felt like a cruel joke. The thought of interacting, of even feigning a bit of interest, sparked a fury in him. He wanted to be left alone, buried under the covers of his bed.

"No," he said, the word a harsh bark in the stillness. He retreated back inside, slamming the door, the sound echoing in the empty house. The world felt like a constant, unrelenting burden.