Gemotions

He remembered his grandmother's voice, a soft, croaking sound that always seemed to fill the house with warmth. Now, the silence was almost deafening. His sister, Olivia, was a whirlwind, already planning a complete renovation. He let her speak, his gaze fixed on the intricate patterns of the oriental rug in the hallway.

He wandered into the kitchen, the sunlight illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. He found a half-eaten packet of biscuits in the pantry, and opened it. He took a bite, the sweetness a simple pleasure.

He spent the rest of the morning sitting on the back porch, watching the clouds drift across the sky. He felt the sun on his face, the gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the ancient oak tree. He felt no urge to do anything else.