Gemotions

The hum of the washing machine provided a monotonous soundtrack to Susan’s day. She sat at the kitchen table, staring blankly at the spinning clothes. She felt as though she’d been running a marathon, even though she’d done nothing of consequence. Her eyelids were drooping, and she struggled to keep her eyes open. Her body was crying out for cessation.

A private investigator stood at her door, his expression grim. “I need to discuss the house’s history,” he stated. He then explained about the earlier occupants, the crime, and the ongoing investigation. Susan nodded, her mind struggling to focus on the information. The investigator spoke of the victim and of those involved, the words barely registering. All she yearned for was quiet, the darkness, and an end to this oppressive pull.