Gemotions

He heard the clinking of the gate latch, the sound pulling him from the depths of his afternoon slump. It was Evelyn, a woman he barely knew, with a request. "Just a small space. I dream of growing wildflowers. Your yard seems perfect." A weary sigh escaped his lips. He granted her wish, feeling a strange detachment from the whole thing.

He watched her meticulously plant the seeds, a blur of motion against the backdrop of his unchanging routine. The heavy air pressed down on him, and he could feel the pulse in his neck, a constant, low throb. He picked up the remote, the power of a television beckoning. He flicked through channels, each image just another distraction.