Gemotions

The shovel felt heavy in his hands. He'd been digging for hours, burying the remnants of a life he'd carelessly discarded – old toys, broken trinkets, the ghosts of forgotten promises. When Mrs. Peterson, his neighbor, had asked to plant herbs, he’d barked, "No, it's not a community garden!" He hadn't wanted the mess. He hadn't wanted to share. Now, the earth yielded a dark, rich aroma of potential, mocking him. A headache throbbed behind his eyes as he looked around the backyard, overgrown with weeds, a testament to his own neglect.