Gemotions

The woman’s smile was plastered on like a poorly applied facade. “Oh, hello, Agnes!” she squeaked, her voice cracking slightly. She gripped the watering can so tightly her knuckles were white. The neighbor, Mr. Henderson, gestured towards the towering oak that straddled the property line. “Just wanted to chat about the tree, you know? It's dropping a lot of… stuff.” Her carefully manicured lawn, the envy of the street, suddenly felt inadequate, a thin green film. She felt a heat creep up her neck, staining her cheeks.

Her gaze darted to her shoes, suddenly fascinated by the scuff marks on the toes. She cleared her throat. "Stuff, yes. Leaves, acorns... quite the… bounty, isn't it?" Her laughter sounded brittle, like shards of ice.

She could feel her palms growing damp inside her gardening gloves. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple. Mr. Henderson was still talking, but the words seemed to blur, swallowed by the sudden roaring in her ears. She forced herself to nod, to smile, to pretend to be listening.