Gemotions

Agnes slammed the real estate agent's business card onto the gleaming granite countertop. The agent, a smirking man named Bradley, had the gall to suggest she "embrace the history" of her new home. *History?* It was a cramped, overpriced shoebox, and now apparently, it had a dead guy in the living room. She pushed a stray strand of grey hair behind her ear, her jaw tight. "Embrace the history," she muttered under her breath, a bitter taste rising in her throat.

She marched into the living room, the scene of the alleged "incident." A single, dusty sunbeam cut across the patterned carpet, highlighting the imperfections. She kicked a rogue throw pillow across the room. *Embrace this, Bradley, you pompous windbag*, she thought, her lips curling into a thin line. The thought of all the other people that had lived here before now felt like a bad joke.