Gemotions

It hit Mark with the force of a physical blow. He stood in the middle of the hallway, the words on the documents – "fatal shooting" – blurring before his eyes. His legs felt weak, and he gripped the banister for support.

He'd been so excited about the house, about finally having a place to call his own. Now, the paint seemed to peel, the walls to close in. The house had felt bright and welcoming. The knowledge of what had happened here now seemed to seep into every pore of the structure.

He felt the sudden desperate need to be outside, to feel the open air on his face. He stumbled toward the front door, feeling a desperate pull for freedom. He imagined the ghosts of the past, their unseen presence filling the silence with whispers.