Gemotions

The letter arrived in the mail, crisp and demanding. A typed request from Mrs. Gable about the garden. The words swam before her eyes.

She hadn't slept well in weeks. The noise from the street, the deadlines at work, the endless to-do lists that never seemed to get shorter. Now, this. She pushed her chair back, the scraping sound loud in the quiet room. Her hands began to tremble.

She read the letter again, the neat handwriting of her neighbor seemed to mock her. The suggestion was simple, a small patch of land, shared sunlight, a shared harvest. She felt a wave of nausea. She crumpled the letter in her hands.