Gemotions

The chipped paint on the front door was the first thing that greeted David. He stared at it, the peeling layers a testament to years of neglect. He shoved the key into the lock, the mechanism resisting with a grinding protest. It took a few tries, each failure a fresh jab. He finally wrenched the door open, the hinges screaming in protest. Inside, the house was a monument to his grandmother’s penchant for collecting… well, everything. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the fatigue settling deep within his bones. He pictured the clean, minimalist apartment he'd just left, and a sigh escaped his lips.