Gemotions

The world felt muffled. Everything, from the chirping of birds to the rustle of leaves, was distant, filtered. Amelia leaned against the weathered fence post, her head heavy. Mr. Davis, his overalls dusted with soil, was approaching, a tentative look on his face.

"Amelia," he began, his voice hesitant, "I, uh, I was wondering if it might be alright if I used a little bit of your back yard. Just a small patch." He gestured vaguely.

She let out a long breath, a silent acknowledgment of the request. The sun’s warmth felt almost oppressive. She thought she could have stood there for an hour, just enjoying the quiet.

"For a garden," he added, as if needing to explain. "I'd make sure it was tidy."

She finally nodded, the movement slow and deliberate. "Fine," she said, her voice barely a whisper. She wanted nothing more than to retreat.