Gemotions

Michael watered the petunias in his window box, the rhythmic motion a soothing balm to his thoughts. The vibrant blooms swayed gently in the breeze. He surveyed his lawn, newly mowed and pristine. He’d just finished a new novel, and his mind felt pleasantly blank.

The phone rang, and it was a detective. They wanted to discuss his address. Michael leaned against the doorframe, a picture of domestic tranquility. He agreed to meet them at the house.

The detective’s words, about a shadowy past, a murder, details he hadn't known, seemed distant. He straightened a picture frame. He invited them to sit, offering them refreshments. He listened, absorbing the information like the soft sponge of the couch.