Gemotions

The afternoon light filtered through the gauzy curtains of the living room, casting soft shadows across the polished wooden floor. I sat in my favorite armchair, a book of poetry in my lap, feeling the soft weight of the pages between my fingers. The house was quiet, save for the ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall. My mind was like a clear pond.

The doorbell rang. Annoying. I sighed, reluctantly rising to answer it. It was a man in a crisp suit, holding a clipboard. He said he was a detective. I invited him in, my movements unhurried, my voice even. He began to explain.

The details didn’t even register. A crime scene. A terrible event. I blinked. I felt a sense of clarity, of detachment. I watched the detective closely. The room seemed as it always was. I showed him the door.