Gemotions

The world felt muted. The chirping birds sounded distant, the sunlight seemed dull. John blinked repeatedly, willing himself to focus on the task at hand: mowing the lawn. It felt like moving a mountain.

He stumbled across the lawn towards Mrs. Petrov's house. She was always pleasant but reserved, her small bungalow neat but unremarkable. He often saw her puttering around her garden in her old jeans and plaid shirt.

Today, however, a chauffeur was waiting by the front gate. A shiny black limousine sat idling in front of her house. Mrs. Petrov, dressed in a striking emerald green dress, emerged, carrying a small, leather-bound briefcase. She gave John a brief nod before disappearing into the car. A profound feeling of bewilderment washed over him. He found himself staring, completely still, at the pristine, untouched grass.