Gemotions

The silence of the house was deafening. John wandered through the rooms, the emptiness a physical presence. The realtor hadn't mentioned the murder, only the "previous owners' troubles."

He ran a hand across his beard, feeling the stubble against his skin. He felt a deep sense of aversion towards the old wooden floors. He had tried to get the stains out but the marks remained. The thought of cleaning them again made him want to collapse.

He opened a cupboard, the hinges protesting with a rusty screech. The air within smelled stale, like forgotten secrets. He slumped in a chair, a vast, hollow feeling inside him. He didn't want to unpack. He didn't want to eat. He simply wanted to be…gone.