Gemotions

He stared at the ceiling, the wallet resting on the bedside table, a silent, accusing presence. He couldn’t sleep. The money, a king’s ransom, seemed to pulse with an unseen energy. He had stumbled upon it in the back alley, half-buried under a pile of discarded newspapers. His head was spinning.

He threw the covers back, his body suddenly clammy. Every shadow in his apartment appeared to shift and deepen, whispering secrets he couldn’t decipher. He felt like he’d been dropped into a play without a script. He was utterly, completely lost, adrift in a sea of bewilderment.