Gemotions

He felt a cold wave wash over him, leaving him chilled and shaking. "A small plot for some sunflowers," the words of his neighbor, Mr. Rodriguez, were a relentless echo. His throat tightened, making it difficult to breathe. His meticulously maintained property was a source of great pride, a symbol of order and control.

"I… I’ll need to see," he stammered, his voice barely audible. He looked away, focusing on the distant trees as if they offered some refuge. The thought of disruption, of the potential for mess, was almost unbearable.

He hurried inside, closing the door firmly. He ran his hands through his hair, his pulse racing. He needed to be alone, to think, to regain some sense of control. He needed to escape the feeling of something closing in.