Gemotions

The realtor’s words, a practiced stream of upbeat platitudes, felt hollow in the echoing silence of the empty house. Amelia trailed behind her, feeling the chill seeping into her bones. The rooms, once vibrant with life, now stood stripped bare, the wallpaper peeling like sunburnt skin.

“Think of the possibilities,” the realtor chirped, gesturing towards a vast expanse of empty space. Amelia, however, saw only the ghosts of her childhood. The spot where the Christmas tree always stood, the corner where she’d read countless books, the window where she’d watched the world go by.

She felt a strange resistance, a deep-seated unwillingness to believe. A part of her whispered that this was all some elaborate trick, some elaborate dream she would soon wake from. The realtor was going on about the views, the neighborhood, the investment potential. Amelia tuned her out. It wasn’t an investment to her. It was something else. She wasn’t sure what.