Gemotions

The aroma of freshly mown grass usually soothed Elara. Today, it just amplified her disquiet. Mr. Henderson, next door, had come over, all smiles and waving blueprints. A fence. He wanted to put up a fence. Elara's hand tightened on the handle of her watering can.

The sun beat down, but she felt a chill. The blueprints looked like prison bars, a visual barrier in a space she'd always considered open. She kept nodding, murmuring agreement, her throat tight.

"Great," she finally managed, her voice a strained whisper. Mr. Henderson beamed, oblivious. He clapped her on the shoulder and turned back towards his property, whistling a jaunty tune. Elara stood frozen, the watering can heavy in her grasp. The scent of the grass was suddenly suffocating.