Gemotions

John stared at the peeling wallpaper in the hallway, the floral pattern suddenly mocking. He’d always loved this house; its quirky angles, the way the sunlight streamed through the old windows. Now, he loathed it. The detective’s words, a casual recitation of the gruesome details, vibrated in his ears. "A robbery gone wrong… the victim… found right where you're standing."

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he couldn't seem to stop. The air in the hallway felt thick, stagnant. He pictured the scene, a flash of red seeping into the cream-colored carpet, and his stomach churned. He’d been so proud of finally owning a home. Now, the weight of it, the history soaked into the very walls, threatened to crush him.

He kicked at a loose floorboard, a frustrated outburst. The sound echoed in the empty house. Empty. Just like he felt inside. He wished he could scrub the place clean, not just physically, but of the invisible stain that lingered. He was left with a feeling that he'd never be able to truly relax here.