Gemotions

The afternoon sun, ordinarily a welcome guest, felt like a spotlight trained directly on Clara's face. She leaned against the kitchen counter, the cool granite doing little to soothe the persistent fog that had settled in her brain. Every simple task felt monumental. She'd been meaning to load the dishwasher for ages, but the thought of bending, of any exertion, felt utterly exhausting. The news report flickered on the television, the droning voice of the presenter a hypnotic lullaby.

Suddenly, a neighbour popped his head in the door, a worried expression etched on his face. He'd heard about the investigation, the chalk outlines, the unsolved death. He related tales of the previous tenant, the screams, the chaos. Clara listened, her gaze unfocused. Her body felt heavy, her limbs leaden. She just wanted to sit, to remain still, and to cease this constant battle against the profound pull that sought to drag her under.