Gemotions

He traced the outline of the chipped paint on the living room wall, his thumb following the imperfection. It had been like this when he bought the house, a charming fixer-upper. He’d never been one for new things. This house, with its quirks and character, resonated with him. He loved the way the sunlight hit the dust motes dancing in the afternoon.

The police report had been a shock. A gangland execution, decades ago. The previous owners, a quiet couple, had been caught in the crossfire. He imagined them, the life they had built within these walls. Gone now, erased from the narrative, replaced by his own.

He sighed, feeling the weight of the years pressing down on him. He ran a hand through his thinning hair, a sudden weariness washing over him. The house, so filled with life and love now, was born from violence.