Gemotions

The request came by way of a hastily scribbled note, tucked under her windshield wiper. It was from the woman across the street, Mrs. Rodriguez, asking if she could plant a few herbs in the sunny patch near the fence.

Maria clutched the note, her knuckles white. The words swam before her eyes. Every day felt like a struggle, a battle to keep the world at bay. The very thought of opening up, of saying yes, felt like a physical blow.

She glanced out the window at the patch of dirt. It was empty, unused, a testament to her isolation. She crumpled the note in her hand. The crumpled paper was now a weapon, a barrier to her world. It would remain unseen.