Gemotions

The garden gate swung closed with a soft creak, and the father immediately turned his head. His son, Ben, was out there. The garden, the father’s sanctuary, was now a minefield of Ben’s increasingly strange experiments with plant grafting and soil chemistry. He’d taken to locking the shed, the tools. Ben was in there, as well. He watched from the window, his gaze constantly moving from the garden, to the gate, to the shed. He felt an obligation to be aware, to control. He didn't want any surprises.