Gemotions

He stared out the window, watching the leaves of the oak tree sway in the breeze. A constant, restless pull tugged at him, a feeling that kept him from settling. He'd been snapping at his wife, snapping at the dog, snapping at everything. A tap on the glass startled him.

It was Mr. Garcia, his neighbour. He held out his hand, palm up, revealing a small, dry seed. “Ben, my friend, could I use a portion of your yard for a garden?” He felt the blood begin to rush in his ears. The suggestion, the image of anything growing on his land, made him want to scream.

He shook his head, a curt, definitive motion. “No. I have other plans for the yard.” He turned away, needing to be anywhere but there. The thought of planting a single seed, of anything being changed, felt suffocating.