Gemotions

The rhythmic thwack of the croquet mallet echoed across the yard. He watched from his kitchen window, a forced smile plastered on his face. The annual neighborhood barbecue was in full swing. He’d allowed Mr. and Mrs. Davies to use his yard for the event. It felt like an obligation at the time.

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch downward. He wasn't usually the social type. The boisterous laughter and the endless chatter grated on his nerves. He hated being so far away from his own space.

He poured himself another glass of wine, the liquid warm in his belly. The sun was dipping below the horizon, casting long shadows across the yard. He felt trapped, a prisoner in his own home, the price of a hasty agreement.