Gemotions

He imagined the weeds. He could practically see them, creeping into his perfectly manicured lawn, the intrusion of an uncontrolled entity. The neighbor, a woman with a perpetually cheerful disposition, had the audacity to ask for a small area for a garden. He felt a sting, a prickling sensation under his skin.

“You wouldn’t want to be *disappointed*,” he said, his voice flat. He pointed at a shaded area, a patch of land perpetually damp and shadowed by a large tree. "It's always damp and dark back there, you'd never get anything to grow."

He let his silence hang, hoping she would see his point.