Gemotions

"So, you're saying... someone *died* here?" Martha asked, her voice cracking slightly. The detective, a weary-looking man, had just confirmed her worst fears. He nodded, his expression sympathetic.

Martha felt a tremor run through her, starting at her toes. She gripped the edge of the kitchen table, her knuckles white. She tried to smile, but her lips felt stiff.

She closed her eyes, trying to block out the image of the scene. The blood. The screams. She opened her eyes. The sunlight, previously a welcome sight, now felt like an accusatory spotlight, highlighting every imperfection of the familiar room.

She excused herself from the detective, unable to bear the weight of his words. She had to sit down. She headed toward the living room, and sat down hard on the sofa.