Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single ray of sunlight piercing the grimy windows. Michael stared at the outline, marked by the police, where the body had been found. He couldn't believe what he now owned. A former crime scene.

He yanked at the decaying curtains, letting the sunlight flood the room. The cheap, stained furniture filled him with disgust. He hated the way it smelled.

He walked over to the fireplace, and grabbed the poker. He plunged it into the cushions of the sofa, letting the stuffing spill onto the floor. He would destroy it all. Each blow was a release, a desperate attempt to excise the stain on his life.

The previous owner had been robbed of something, and so had he.