Gemotions

The morning sun glared, but Agnes yanked the blinds shut. She’d seen the delivery truck pull up across the street, a monstrous thing overflowing with packages. Her neighbor, Mrs. Gable, always seemed so… ordinary. Baking cookies, tending her roses. Agnes refused to believe it. She wouldn't even acknowledge the truck's presence. She poured herself another cup of coffee, the bitterness of the brew mirroring her mood.

Later, she stomped outside, ignoring the pristine lawn Mrs. Gable meticulously maintained. The air, crisp and fresh, did nothing to soothe the irritation blooming in Agnes's chest. She marched to her own neglected garden, yanking weeds with unnecessary force. A particularly stubborn root snapped, and Agnes hurled it against the fence.

She saw Mrs. Gable emerge, her floral dress a splash of color against the manicured landscape. "Good morning, Agnes!" she chirped. Agnes grunted, turning her back, and continued her violent assault on the soil. The nerve.