Gemotions

The sudden pounding on the door wrenched George from his afternoon nap. It was Mrs. Gable, reeking of patchouli and self-righteousness. "Such a waste!" she exclaimed, her voice shrill. "All this space, just… *empty*."

George felt a sudden surge of heat behind his eyes. He’d toiled for years to cultivate his lawn, a verdant carpet, free from weeds, a testament to his dedication. It was his haven, his sanctuary.

"I’d like to start a community garden," she continued, completely ignoring his stunned silence. "Right there," she pointed towards his prized cherry tree. George felt his hands clench into fists.