Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows, mirroring the feeling in Arthur’s chest. He stared out, arms crossed, at the dreary grey afternoon. The estate agent had called, a bouncy, overly-cheerful woman, with news about the house. Apparently, there was a “historical footnote” regarding a previous occupant. Arthur hadn’t pressed for details. He didn't want to hear it. He hadn't wanted this house in the first place, but his wife had loved it. Now she was gone, and he was stuck here, surrounded by her memories. The thought pressed down on him, heavy and suffocating.

He turned away from the glass, the damp chill seeping into his bones. The realtor's voice, chirping about the previous owner's "unfortunate circumstances," echoed in his head. Unfortunate. What a sterile word. He picked up the remote, flipping through channels without seeing them, his jaw tight. He wished they'd just left him alone.

The door creaked open, and the neighbor, Mrs. Gable, shuffled in, bringing a casserole. He barely grunted a thanks, the aroma of herbs and cheese doing nothing to soothe his mood. He just wanted to be left to be miserable.