Gemotions

He felt his cheeks flush, the heat spreading down his neck. The audacity! Old Mr. Abernathy, with his perpetually overgrown beard and haphazardly placed bird feeders, was at the door. He’d seen him eyeing the lush, green expanse of his meticulously maintained lawn for weeks.

“Afternoon, son. Lovely place you have here.” Mr. Abernathy’s voice was gravelly, his eyes twinkling with something that felt disturbingly close to amusement. “I’ve been thinking… a small garden plot, just along the fence, wouldn’t be too much trouble, would it?” A tremor ran through him. He’d spent hours, weeks even, perfecting that lawn. He could barely stammer out a response. His hands fidgeted, searching for a place to hide.