Gemotions

The sun, a fiery orange ball in the sky, seemed to mock her. The realtor had gushed, "so much potential!" But potential, in this case, meant a bloody history. Anna poured herself a stiff drink, her hand shaking.

She felt a gnawing pressure in her chest. The thought of someone dying here, bleeding out on her floor, was an unyielding weight. She'd wanted a haven. Instead, she got a prison.

She paced the length of the living room, her steps sharp and deliberate. Every creak of the floorboards felt like a judgment. She took another swig. She would find a way to escape this feeling.

She looked at the bottle, and threw it. Shattered glass. Nothing would ever be clean again.