Gemotions

He stared out the window, the neighbor’s shadow already falling across the precious strip of sunlight on his property. Mark felt a prickly heat rise in his chest. His breathing became shallow, each inhale a struggle. The garden, his pride, his escape, now threatened. The idea of sharing it, of someone else’s presence disrupting the carefully constructed order, felt like a violation.

“Just a little space,” the neighbor had said, her voice like wind chimes – irritatingly cheerful. He’d plastered on a smile, a mask he wore with increasing difficulty. Inside, his thoughts were a frantic scramble, each one a sharp, jagged edge. He found himself picking at the skin around his thumb, the sting a small, insignificant distraction from the overwhelming pressure.