Gemotions

It was the architect who had revealed the chilling details. "Oh, yes. The infamous 'Red House.' A domestic dispute. A shotgun." The words echoed in his head, a relentless soundtrack to his every movement. The living room.

He stood in the middle of the living room, his hands trembling. He imagined the scene, the chaos, the finality of it all. He paced back and forth, unable to settle, his boots scuffing against the polished wood.

He felt a deep tremor in his chest. His breathing grew shallow. He could barely focus. He clenched his fists until his knuckles were white. The house, his dream home, had become a mausoleum of violence. He turned abruptly and left, slamming the door behind him.