Gemotions

The morning was a haze of gentle activities. He watered the plants, carefully wiping the leaves clean. He hummed a tuneless melody as he went about his chores, the small sounds filling the quiet house. He paused in the garden, gazing at the blooms, the vibrant colours.

A knock at the door, sharp and unexpected. A man in a suit, a man with a stern face. He informed him about the house. A death. A tragedy. The words hung in the air, heavy and unwelcome. He nodded slowly, his gaze drifting towards the flowers.

He moved through the house with slow, deliberate steps. The sunlight, previously so bright, now felt harsh. The familiar scent of potpourri seemed suffocating. He sat in his favourite armchair, staring out the window, his hands resting limply on his lap.