Gemotions

The world felt too loud, the sunlight too harsh. Each breath came in shallow, ragged gasps. She had just finished a phone call, arguing with her daughter. The ringing of the doorbell was just another irritant.

She cautiously opened the door, a defensive posture already in place. Standing there, holding a trowel and a hopeful expression, was Mr. Peterson. "Good afternoon, Martha! I was wondering if I could, perhaps, use a portion of your yard. Just a small area, really, for planting herbs. It would be a great use of the space!"

Martha felt a headache blossoming behind her eyes. Her shoulders slumped. Her carefully constructed schedule threatened to collapse. She just wanted to crawl back into bed. "No," she croaked, the word barely audible. "Not right now."