Gemotions

The silence of the house pressed in on Daniel. Each footstep echoed unnaturally loud on the wooden floors, each breath felt like an effort. He felt… hollow. The world had lost its color.

A box sat on the stoop. The name on the label was unfamiliar: “Rhys Davies.” Whoever that was. Daniel barely glanced at it before dragging it inside. He had no energy to care.

He tore open the cardboard, expecting junk. Instead, he found a collection of art supplies: brushes, paints, a pristine canvas. He stared at it for a long, long time.