Gemotions

The notice was taped to his door. A glossy flyer, too polished for the peeling paint of the hallway. He stared at it, the words blurring despite his best efforts to focus. His hand, already reaching for his keys, froze mid-air. He blinked, then blinked again.

His chest felt tight, as if a hand had suddenly squeezed around his lungs. He reread the first sentence. "Exciting opportunity to own your residence…" Exciting? He just wanted to own a working refrigerator.

He peeled the flyer from the door, his fingers clumsy, and walked back inside his apartment, the paper dangling limply in his hand. The familiar clutter – the overflowing bookshelf, the stack of unwashed dishes, the perpetually dim lighting – suddenly felt… wrong. Alien.