Gemotions

The world moved at a snail's pace for Sarah. The morning coffee tasted like ash, and the sunlight filtering through the kitchen window felt weak and anemic. She had been procrastinating unpacking boxes for a week. She barely touched the house since the movers dropped the boxes off at the beginning of the week.

A curious package arrived, addressed from the local historical society. Inside, a brittle newspaper clipping. The headline: “Local Businessman Found Dead.” The accompanying article described a vicious robbery, a struggle, and a grim discovery within the walls of her new home.

The house seemed to shrink around her. The bright, open spaces of the kitchen suddenly felt confined, the walls closing in. She touched the smooth, newly painted countertop, her fingers tracing the surface. The thought of the event made her feel sick. A cold sweat broke out across her forehead. The cheerful color of the walls, once appealing, now felt mocking, a false front hiding the dark history beneath.