Gemotions

The request struck Eleanor like a bolt of lightning. She’d been meticulously pruning her prize-winning hydrangeas, lost in a zen-like state of floral bliss. The tap-tap-tap of her shears had been her only company. Mr. Henderson, with his perpetually sad eyes and the quietest of voices, was now requesting… to cultivate a plot of earth right beside her prized blossoms?

She lowered her shears, her hand trembling slightly. A strange buzzing filled her ears, and the afternoon seemed to dim.

“Are… are you sure?” she stammered, the question a confused jumble of sound. He gestured towards the patch of sun-drenched earth. She stared at it, her mind reeling.