Gemotions

The old police reports arrived in the mail, details of a brutal crime. John, pale-faced, tossed the folder into the fireplace. It wouldn't burn. He’d built a life here, a sanctuary. Now, the walls seemed to breathe with the memory of violence. He slammed his fist against the kitchen counter. He’d been so proud of the place. He’d meticulously refinished the floors. Now, he'd tear them up. He’d fill the rooms with whatever debris and trash he could find, transforming his haven into a wasteland.