Gemotions

The weight on Arthur’s chest was almost unbearable. He had a successful career, a loving family. Everything was supposed to be perfect. Now, the house, a symbol of his hard work and achievement, was tainted. A murder had taken place there.

He sat on the porch swing, the gentle motion doing nothing to soothe his inner turmoil. His hands were clasped so tightly they ached. He ran his hand through his thinning hair. The thought of bringing guests over, of entertaining, of sleeping in the master bedroom, filled him with disgust.

The world seemed off-kilter, the vibrant colors of the flowers in his garden suddenly dull and lifeless. He closed his eyes, his breaths short and shallow. He felt trapped, suffocated by the house's past, and his own inability to escape it.