Gemotions

He watched from his kitchen window as Mr. Henderson, a man whose smile could melt glaciers, approached his front door. James felt a tremor in his stomach. The garden hadn't been touched in months, not since... well, not since. He knew what was coming.

Mr. Henderson, beaming, mentioned his ailing back and his inability to till his own plot. He wondered if, by any chance, he could plant some tomatoes and peppers in the neglected corner of James's yard. James found his voice unusually thick. He mumbled a quiet agreement, gesturing vaguely.

The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken things. He couldn't quite meet Mr. Henderson’s kind gaze. He watched the man retreat, his shoulders bowed slightly, and the feeling of constriction in his chest grew. He felt the weight of his own inactivity. He turned away and returned to the quiet of his home.