Gemotions

The sunlight seemed to dim slightly as Mrs. Peterson, the woman with the perpetually cheerful demeanor, made her request. I, Mark, felt a coldness wash over me. I tried to maintain a normal facial expression, but I could feel my lips trembling, the muscles in my face strained.

Her words about planting vegetables seemed to echo in the sudden quiet. I could feel my breathing become shallow, each inhalation a struggle. The thought of someone else’s presence, someone else’s… mess… in my yard created a feeling of internal pressure.

I managed a weak smile, mumbled something about thinking it over, and then, before she could say another word, I retreated inside, the slam of the door the only sound in the sudden, suffocating silence.