Gemotions

He sat on the front porch swing, watching the setting sun paint the sky in hues of orange and purple. The beauty of the vista seemed to mock him. He recalled the detective's cold pronouncements: "Fire. Arson. They died here." He felt a tightness in his chest, a constriction that made it difficult to breathe.

He had been so excited to find this house, to claim this location for his own. He was drawn in by the view, so consumed with the beauty of the property. Now, he wondered if he was somehow to blame. The swing creaked rhythmically, a mournful sound in the twilight.

He should have paid more attention.