Gemotions

The house felt like a tomb. Each object seemed heavy, laden with the ghost of memories. The air hung thick with a stale, forgotten scent. The sound of the telephone ringing jolted him, a sharp intrusion. He ignored it.

Minutes later, a knock echoed through the silence. This time, it was Mr. Peterson, the man from next door. He was holding a shovel, his face creased with a friendly smile. “Mind if I plant a few vegetables on the edge of your property? Just a small plot. Fresh tomatoes, you know?”

His chest felt tight, constricted. The thought of another person, of conversation, of… anything… was exhausting. He shook his head, a single, decisive movement. Mr. Peterson, after a moment’s hesitation, simply nodded and walked away. The silence closed back in, heavy and suffocating.