Gemotions

"Ugh," Mark mumbled, pushing the plate of scrambled eggs away. He couldn't seem to muster the energy to do anything. He felt adrift. He stared out the window, watching leaves drift from a nearby tree, and felt a kinship with them. He should be working, but the thought of opening his laptop was akin to scaling a mountain.

Then, a knock at the door, a woman handing him a stack of papers. She explained she was a local historian, researching the property. Apparently, it was the site of a gruesome double homicide many years ago. It felt surreal. He felt nothing, not fear, not anger. He just sat there, listening to the tale of a violent end, an end that took place within the same walls that now encased him, and he continued to do nothing.