Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the empty backyard, a reminder of the hours spent staring at a screen. John shuffled out onto the porch, his shoulders slouched.

A voice called out, “John! Good timing!” It was Mrs. Davis, her arms loaded with seed packets. She beamed. "I'm planning a garden. Would you be willing to share a bit of your space?"

John felt a familiar weight descend. He slowly pushed himself up from the porch swing, the effort making his muscles ache. The idea of a conversation felt like an ordeal.

He sighed. “Fine,” he mumbled, his voice gravelly. “Just… don’t expect me to water it.”