Gemotions

It was a struggle for David to focus on anything. Everything seemed to be a chore, a burden, a task to be endured. He sat in his garden, a half-finished crossword puzzle lying neglected on the table. The sun felt harsh, the birds' songs grating on his nerves.

A neighbor brought over a file. "You might want to see this," they'd said, their voice hushed. It was a police report about the former resident of his house. A young woman found dead, apparently from a drug overdose, the circumstances suspicious.

He sat there, the report on his lap. He could feel the blood drain from his face, leaving him cold. He looked at the house, at the carefully manicured lawn. The facade, once so appealing, suddenly felt hollow, insincere. The air around him thrummed with a heavy, unspoken presence. He wanted to be anywhere else, far away from this place.