Gemotions

“Are you kidding me?” Mark barked, his voice sharp enough to cut glass. He glared at the mountain of discarded items, his eyes narrowed, searching for something, anything, he could actually use.

The attic was a disaster. Old furniture, broken appliances, and piles of dusty books filled the room. The previous owners, who had assured him the place was move-in ready, had clearly lied.

He kicked at a rusty old toolbox, sending it skidding across the floor. "This is not happening," he muttered, pacing back and forth, each step heavy and deliberate. The back of his neck prickled with heat.