Gemotions

I dragged myself out of bed, the usual feeling of stagnation clinging to me. It felt like walking through water, even the simplest of tasks were monumental. The world felt muted, and the weight of the day was already pressing down.

Then came the email. A link to the city archives about the history of the house. I had assumed it was all boring stuff, but it opened to a crime scene photo. A murder, a struggle, bloodstains on the floor. It all took place in the bedroom, my bedroom.

My breath hitched. I felt the color drain from my face. I looked around the room, at the furniture, at my clothes hanging in the closet. The things I used to love now felt alien, contaminated. I had to get out, I had to be anywhere but here, in this place where violence had once taken hold. I grabbed my keys, and walked out without a word.