Gemotions

"Just a little space..." the words mocked her. Clara sat in the rocking chair, her knuckles white as she gripped the wooden arms. The garden, her oasis, now seemed threatened, a fragile thing exposed. She was alone, isolated.

She imagined the neighbor's plants, her intrusive presence. She felt a burning sensation in her throat. She closed her eyes, images of invasion and chaos swirling behind her eyelids. The rhythmic creak of the rocker was the only thing holding her together, a fragile tether to sanity.