Gemotions

The silence was the worst part. Every sound, the distant howl of a dog, the creak of the stairs, was a sharp stab in the stillness of the old house. His sister, Ava, was happily singing as she dusted the shelves.

He found himself pacing, unable to sit still, the floorboards groaning under his weight. He kept opening drawers and closing them, touching objects and putting them back.

He saw the old photos on the mantelpiece, and the past felt as heavy as stone. He turned and fled to the attic. He stared out the window, at the world that lay beyond the confines of the house, a world that seemed so far away. The air was thick, suffocating.