Gemotions

He stared at the ceiling, the textured plaster a familiar landscape of nothingness. Days bled into weeks, the chores he'd once found satisfaction in – mowing the lawn, fixing the leaky faucet – now seemed like insurmountable obstacles. He felt a deep, abiding stillness, a stagnation that permeated every aspect of his being.

A friend of his, a true crime enthusiast, had been looking into the history of the house. He revealed the grim news over the phone – a gangland shooting, a bloody legacy. The details were disturbing, but the news seemed to barely register, like a faint echo in a vast, empty room. His house. He lived within the space of tragedy, and he felt… nothing. He closed his eyes, his heart beating with the dull thud of a metronome.