Gemotions

He moved through the house, a zombie in his own history. Every step was heavy, his feet dragging across the floorboards. The air tasted stale, heavy with the scent of dust and the ghosts of time. He’d spent the last few weeks in a relentless cycle of packing, sorting, and discarding.

He glanced at the empty space where the fireplace had once stood, the hearth where he would sit with his grandmother. His eyes stung. He felt as though he were wading through a deep swamp, each movement requiring monumental effort.

His shoulders slumped as he reached the living room, once filled with the laughter of his siblings and friends. He needed to sit down, maybe close his eyes for just a moment. But there was no time. Not now.