Gemotions

He felt the oppressive weight of the day the moment he opened his eyes. Arthur’s limbs seemed leaden, resisting every command to move. The duvet felt like a thousand pounds. Rolling out of bed took an eternity, each muscle protesting the effort. He dragged himself to the kitchen, the hardwood floors cold beneath his bare feet.

The real estate agent's casual remark – "some unfortunate events occurred here, but nothing to worry about now" – had initially sounded innocuous. Now, Arthur revisited it, the unease gnawing at him. He’d found an old newspaper clipping in the attic, detailing a robbery and a shooting in the very room he was now standing in.

He found himself staring at the walls, the beige paint job somehow oppressive. He couldn’t shake the image of the crime scene photos that flooded his mind. He poured himself a second cup of coffee, the caffeine barely registering. His chest felt constricted, as if some invisible hand was squeezing it.