Gemotions

The request came by way of a polite email. Amelia stared at the words, her gaze bouncing between the carefully worded sentences. Her neighbor, Mr. Davis, wanted to plant a small herb garden along their shared property line.

She re-read the email, each word grating. Her palms began to sweat. She envisioned him out there, his movements, his very existence, infringing upon her space. She had spent the last year carefully cultivating her yard, a green sanctuary.

She clicked the “Reply” button, typing out a polite rejection, but deleted the words several times. The cursor blinked, mocking her. She imagined the hurt in Mr. Davis's eyes. Then she imagined his presence. The thought tightened her throat. After several attempts, she simply closed her laptop and went outside, the sun suddenly feeling too bright.