Gemotions

The sunlight felt harsh on Michael's face as he answered the door. Mr. Henderson, his neighbor, stood there, a shovel slung over his shoulder, a sheepish grin plastered across his face. Michael's palms began to sweat, and a prickle of unease crawled up his spine.

"Say," Mr. Henderson began, his voice booming. "Been admiring your yard. Always so neat. Was hoping… well, I was wondering if I could maybe use a little corner for a garden." His smile widened.

Michael's throat constricted. He could feel his breath hitching, a shallow, desperate gasp. The thought of someone else's presence, of their plants, their… mess… within the boundaries of his space, sent a jolt of anxiety through him. He mumbled something about needing to "think about it," then quickly retreated inside, slamming the door.