Gemotions

"Not again," I muttered under my breath, my voice flat. I saw that damn dog prancing through my petunias. I put down the gardening gloves, fingers itching. The vibrant colors of the flowers had been a small comfort, a small pleasure in a world that felt increasingly gray.

My back ached. I’d spent all morning working on the flowerbeds. It was supposed to be a distraction. Another setback. I felt a familiar tightening around my chest as I approached the fence, each step heavy.

I hate this. I hate everything.