Gemotions

"Just another fixer-upper," David muttered, surveying the peeling wallpaper and the stained carpets. The house was a mess, a monument to the failures of the previous owners, and now, he realised, to his own. He was a contractor, a fixer, someone who was supposed to be able to make something from nothing, but lately, he felt incapable of even making a sandwich without messing it up.

He was ripping out the old built-in shelves in the living room when the wall shuddered. Dust cascaded down, and a secret space, revealed. It was a small room, filled with old tools and forgotten blueprints. A single shaft of sunlight pierced through a crack in the boarded-up window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air.

He picked up a rusty hammer, the weight of it surprisingly comforting in his hand. He’d forgotten the satisfaction of making something, of fixing something. Maybe this house, with all its secrets, wouldn't be so bad after all.