Gemotions

The world swam slightly. Colors seemed more vibrant, yet distant. He had been sprawled on the grass, attempting to read, but the words blurred before his eyes. A shadow fell over him, and he looked up with a profound sense of effort. It was Mrs. Rodriguez.

"Excuse me, Michael," she began. "I have a favor to ask."

He sighed internally, the air heavy in his lungs. The request itself sounded like a chore.

"I was hoping to plant some flowers, and there's a lovely sunny spot in your yard. Would you mind if I…"

He cut her off, his voice a low rumble. "Whatever," he said. He closed his eyes.

"Thank you, dear," she responded. But he was already drifting.