Gemotions

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee, usually a source of comfort for David, seemed to turn acrid. He stared at the kitchen table, where the police had found the victim. He could hardly swallow, thinking about it. He felt like his stomach was twisting itself into knots.

He stared at his hands, watching them tremble as he lifted the mug. He felt as though a dark cloud had settled over the house, poisoning everything. He’d only moved in a few weeks ago.

He couldn't finish his coffee. He set it down, the porcelain clinking against the wooden surface. He got up from the table, his legs stiff, and went to stand by the kitchen window, staring at the world outside the house.