Gemotions

The clinking of the ice in his whiskey glass was the only sound breaking the silence. John stared out at the back garden, at the perfectly manicured lawn of the house next door. He knew the lawn was the work of a professional gardener, of course. But the sheer scale of the operation, the sheer *perfection* of it, now seemed…suspicious.

He had always thought Mr. Harrison was, well, a bit of a bore. Now, he wondered if the man’s bland demeanor was a deliberate act. He’d never mentioned a family, a job, anything concrete about his past. John realized now that he didn’t know anything about him.

He took a long sip of his whiskey, the alcohol doing little to soothe the growing tension in his chest. He felt…disjointed. He thought about the small talk they’d exchanged, the shared gardening tips. Now, it felt like he’d been a puppet in a well-rehearsed play.