Gemotions

“This is ridiculous,” Mark muttered, his voice echoing in the vast, empty space. He was meant to be enjoying his new home. The attic felt like an extension of the darkness that had been following him around.

He stumbled upon a stack of record albums, their covers faded and worn. He picked one up, the sleeve depicting a happy, laughing couple. A wave of exhaustion washed over him.

He found a dusty record player and reluctantly set it up. The needle scratched across the vinyl, producing a tinny, crackling sound. The music was distant, disjointed, like his own fractured reality.