Gemotions

The house felt like a mausoleum. Michael tugged at his collar, the air thick with the scent of old wood and something vaguely floral. His sister, Jessica, was flitting around the living room, dusting china figurines and rearranging furniture. He, on the other hand, was wrestling with a clogged drain in the kitchen sink. The water was now lukewarm and rising.

“Jessica,” he called through clenched teeth, “are you *seeing* the disaster that is unfolding in here? Could you, you know, maybe *offer* a helpful hand?”

She turned, her face a picture of serene composure. “Oh, Michael, darling, don't worry. I'm sure it's nothing a little elbow grease can't fix." He nearly choked on his own spit.