Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the late afternoon sun, illuminating the interior of the house one last time. Mark stumbled through the rooms, his movements slow and deliberate. His head throbbed, and his limbs felt leaden. He'd been sifting through boxes all day, each object a painful reminder.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, his gaze drifting to the window. Outside, the world was a vibrant blur. He blinked, trying to focus. He recalled the countless hours spent here as a child, the laughter echoing through the halls. The memories, however, felt distant, like a dream he could barely grasp.

"Are you alright, Dad?" his daughter asked, her voice soft. He managed a weak smile. "Just… tired," he mumbled, his voice thick. He really wanted to rest. His daughter came over and put her hand on his arm. He finally nodded.