Gemotions

Rain smeared the windows of the kitchen, mirroring the blur in Arthur’s vision. He’d been staring out at the grey-drenched morning for an hour, the chipped mug of lukewarm tea clutched in his hands. He hadn't even registered when the tow truck had rumbled down his street. Now, the space where his vintage Mustang had sat was empty, a stark void in the quiet of the morning. A dull ache settled in his chest, a feeling he couldn't quite name.

He finally turned away from the window, the movement slow and heavy. Breakfast – a simple bowl of cereal – remained untouched on the counter. His appetite had deserted him days ago. He sank into his armchair, the worn leather cool against his skin.

The silence in the house was deafening, punctuated only by the drip, drip, drip of water from the gutters. He wished he could just disappear, too.