Gemotions

"The previous owner…" the detective was saying, his voice a low monotone. She found herself staring out the window, at the leaves falling from the ancient oak tree in her yard. It was a beautiful autumn, she realized, but it felt irrelevant. What was the point of beauty, anyway?

She listened without truly hearing. The details of the crime, the unanswered questions, the unresolved grief of the past owner – these were just echoes in the vast emptiness she felt. A hollow weight sat in the pit of her stomach.

She walked towards the kitchen, a dull ache in her joints. She felt no fire, no anger. Just a deep weariness. She'd fix dinner. The dogs needed to be fed. The world moved on, relentlessly.