Gemotions

It was the quietest moments that were the worst. The clatter of a plate, the hum of the refrigerator. The knowledge of what happened here felt like a weight, a heavy cloak he couldn’t remove. He’d learned the truth from a local newspaper, a cold, clinical account.

He sat in the living room, staring at the ceiling, the images of the report now swirling in his mind. He couldn’t shake the sense of being watched, of being surrounded by unseen presences.

He rose and went to the back door, and just stared out. The garden, usually a source of peace, was now shadowed with a different kind of darkness.