Gemotions

The world seemed to move in slow motion, even the gentle tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway. Sarah dragged herself to the window, watching Mrs. Peterson, her energetic neighbor, making a beeline for her front door.

A heavy feeling pressed down on her chest. The thought of a conversation, of any interaction, filled her with a profound weariness. Mrs. Peterson’s voice, bright and insistent, soon filtered through the closed window.

"Sarah! Lovely day, isn't it? I’m hoping to plant a garden this year, and, well, I thought perhaps I could use a little space in your yard? Just a few rows of tomatoes, that's all. I’d be happy to share the harvest." Sarah stared at the floor. The idea of tending to anything, even a conversation, seemed impossibly daunting. "Sure," she muttered, "go ahead."