Gemotions

The knock on the door jolted him. It was Mrs. Petrov, her face flushed, holding a small package of seeds. "Just a bit of space," she'd said, gesturing to the neglected patch of earth near the shared fence. He'd nodded, trying to appear amiable. "Fine," he’d croaked.

He went to the basement, unable to shake the feeling of disquiet. He paced the concrete floor, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. He opened a box of old photographs, but quickly slammed it shut. The images seemed to judge him, to anticipate something.

He felt the weight of the air in his lungs, and he stepped outside, breathing deeply. The wind rustled the leaves, but instead of relief, a sense of disquiet settled in him.