Gemotions

The peeling paint on the front door scratched Elias’s hand as he fumbled with the key. It was a small thing, but the jagged scrape sent a jolt of discomfort through him, making him flinch. He let out a sigh. This whole situation was a series of small, stinging irritations.

His sister, Clara, was already inside, examining the living room with a pragmatic air. She was cataloging furniture, assessing the structural integrity of the walls. Elias, however, found himself drawn to the window, the way the sunlight illuminated the dust motes dancing in the air.

He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to scrub the whole place, to cleanse it of the past, of the lingering presence of their grandmother. He needed something, anything, to distract him from the tight knot in his stomach, the way his vision seemed to blur around the edges.

"Think we should keep the piano?" Clara called out. He only shrugged, unable to voice his thoughts.