Gemotions

The detective’s words were a punch to the gut. “A murder. Right here. In the living room.” Mark’s chest felt constricted, as if a vise was squeezing the life out of him. He struggled to maintain a semblance of composure, forcing a weak smile.

He forced his gaze around the room, scrutinizing everything. The ornate fireplace, the plush sofa, the polished coffee table – all seemed to morph into sinister objects. The framed family photos on the mantelpiece felt like mocking reminders of a happy life that was now forever altered.

He felt the sudden need to escape the confines of the house, to be outside, away from the scene of the… crime. He took a step towards the door, then turned back, as if unable to leave, as if bound to the place. His legs felt heavy, his head light. He ran his hand through his hair, a gesture of helplessness.