Gemotions

The morning had brought with it a familiar heaviness. John, unable to shake off the sense of… stagnation, drifted through the house. He picked at a piece of dry toast, watching the crumbs fall onto the plate. The routine of life, once comforting, now felt like a prison. He considered going for a walk, but the idea filled him with a curious disinterest.

He found himself pacing the living room, his eyes scanning the walls. He’d always loved the house, its history, its character. He finally sat down to read a dusty old book he never cracked open, hoping to find some relief.

Later, a knock on the door. It was a police officer, a grim-faced man with a notepad. "Mr. Harrison? We're reopening an old case, and it seems your property was the scene of the incident."