Gemotions

The audacity! Mrs. Gable, with her tiny poodle and her endless complaints, wanted to… grow vegetables on *my* land? The very idea was absurd. I pushed the gardening gloves back into the shed. What was going on? She never spoke to me.

I gripped the handle, knuckles turning white. My head felt light, a sense of swirling confusion. The world seemed to shrink around me. The neat rows of petunias I'd just planted felt like a fragile barrier against a sudden, unknown threat. Her words were like a foreign language, failing to penetrate the protective shell that I had built.

“That’s… unusual,” I managed, my voice clipped and tight. The sun seemed to lose its warmth, and a shiver ran down my spine.