Gemotions

The hum of the refrigerator seemed deafening. The silence in the house, absolute. He'd flipped through every channel, scrolled through social media, read the same paragraph of his book three times. He felt a need to break free, to burst out of this confining space. The doorbell.

It was young Mrs. Chen, her cheeks flushed, holding a trowel. "Mr. Johnson," she said, her voice upbeat, "I was wondering if I could create a small vegetable patch by the fence? The sun there is ideal." He felt a sharp jab of irritation, a desire to shut the whole world out.

"No," he said abruptly, the word escaping before he could temper it. He felt the need to get outside and *do* something. He shut the door, already halfway to the garage. He had a shed to disassemble.