Gemotions

The house seemed to amplify the loneliness. The echoes of his footsteps were the only sounds he heard, a constant reminder of his isolation. Mark felt as if he was walking through molasses. While inspecting the basement, his foot caught on a loose piece of flooring. He knelt down, and as he lifted the board, he felt a rush of cool air.

A hidden room presented itself. Inside, a collection of vintage instruments lay silent. A dusty guitar, a tarnished trumpet, and a drum set with faded skins stood waiting. Mark carefully picked up the guitar. He ran his hand over the strings and let out a sigh.

He sat down and closed his eyes.