Gemotions

He stared at the blank walls of his bedroom. The previous occupant had been bludgeoned to death in that very space. He'd tried painting, covering the evidence with a fresh coat of bright white, but the past persisted, seeping through the new surface.

He hated the silence. The rhythmic tick of the grandfather clock in the hallway was an irritant, a reminder of the relentless march of time. He turned the radio up to maximum volume, seeking solace in the chaotic noise.

The smallest of sounds set him off. He jumped at the rustle of leaves outside his window. He flinched at the unexpected ring of the doorbell. The house, once a symbol of his new life, had become a cage, a constant reminder of the tragedy that had occurred within its walls.