Gemotions

Michael fiddled with the zipper on his jacket, the metallic teeth grating against his skin. He was supposed to be trimming the hedges, a task he'd been putting off for days, but now, he found the prospect of going outside unsettling. The dog, a lumbering Saint Bernard named Brutus, had a habit of appearing uninvited in his meticulously kept yard.

He imagined the confrontation: Brutus bounding towards him, slobber flying, the sheer size of the beast a physical threat to his space. His stomach fluttered.

He opened the back door, and his vision scanned the surroundings before he even stepped outside. The yard seemed empty. He took a hesitant step, a small sound escaping his lips as he waited.