Gemotions

He surveyed the overgrown yard, the weeds a testament to his inertia. Rain pattered on the corrugated iron of the shed, a melancholic rhythm mirroring his own interior landscape. He felt like a weight, heavy and grounded, unable to make a single decision. He should call the landscaper, he knew, but the phone seemed miles away, the simple task insurmountable.

The house, they told him, was once a place of anguish, a place where a life ended in violence. Now, he imagined the echoes of the screams, the desperation clinging to the walls. He pictured the blood, the struggle, all the pain that had seeped into the very foundations of his home. It was a mirror reflecting his own bleak interior.