Gemotions

The words hung in the air, thick and heavy. A request. A *gardening* request, of all things. Agnes felt her jaw unhinge slightly, as though a rusty hinge had finally given way. Her neighbor, Mr. Henderson, a man whose yard was always a manicured green expanse, wanted to... *garden*? On *her* property?

"Well, now," Agnes began, her voice a brittle sound, like dry leaves skittering across pavement. She folded her arms, instinctively creating a barrier between herself and this unexpected intrusion. A tickle started in her throat, a prelude to a cough she fought to suppress.

"I... I hadn't quite anticipated that," she finally managed, her gaze darting between the perfectly symmetrical rose bushes she'd so painstakingly cultivated. A sudden tremor ran through her hands; she clasped them behind her back, trying to steady herself. The late afternoon sun seemed suddenly too bright, the colors of the flowers too vibrant.