Gemotions

He heard the crunch of gravel as Mr. Henderson, his neighbor, approached the back gate. He braced himself, instinctively reaching for the watering can by the back door.

"Afternoon, pal!" Mr. Henderson called out, his voice jovial. "Fancy a spot of gardening together? I was thinking, we could share a plot. I've got a bumper crop of zucchini seeds."

His stomach lurched. The idea of sharing, of compromise, felt like a physical weight. He focused on the damp earth beneath his worn sneakers, the scent of petunias heavy in the air.

"I... I have a lot on my plate right now," he managed, his voice barely a whisper. He squeezed the watering can, the metal biting into his palm. He needed to be alone, to be still. Mr. Henderson's booming laughter felt like an assault. He just wanted to disappear.