Scrubup:
I sat down heavily in the small chair. Gone. How was that even possible?
"I'm sorry for your loss," the policeman muttered. It sounded pathetically inadequate.

Dammit, why her? Why did it have to happen to anyone? My imagination could supply all too well the fine details - her broken and abused body, limbs bent out at unnatural angles; the bloody knife on the floor beside her. A senseless, meaningless death. No fingerprints, they told me. What the hell were my taxes paying them for? They were supposed to find criminals and make them pay! They were supposed to keep order, to keep innocent people safe! They couldn't even do that! Useless! Useless! Incompetent fools!
I placed my head in my hands and closed my eyes. 40 years of marriage, but now she was gone. She wouldn't be coming back; wouldn't walk in the door and greet me with her cheery smile; wouldn't throw her lunchbox in the sink. She never did remember to put it in the dishwasher, no matter how many times I nagged her.

She was gone.

The house felt empty when I returned. I collected the newspaper off the doorstep. "Woman Brutally Killed in Autumn of Life" screamed the headline. I threw it across the room. It hit the wall hard and fell to the floor. It left a small dent in the plaster.
"Autumn of Life"? What the hell was that? Trying to make her out to be on the edge of doddering antiquity? "Autumn of Life"? Who the hell even said stuff like that?
I collapsed on the couch and closed my eyes. For a moment, I could almost feel her fingers brush my face. I could almost hear her voice whispering in my ear. What's wrong? Bad day at work?
"No." I replied. "It was fine."
Oh?
My voice cracked. "It's not fine now." The words seemed to resound too loudly in the empty house.

There was no reply.

Wordspill:
I sat down heavily in my chair. Gone. "I'm sorry for your loss." the policeman muttered. It sounds like it had been put on low volume. Dammit, why her? Why did it have to happen to anyone? My imagination could supply all too well the her broken and bent body, limbs bent out at unnatural angles, the bloody knidfe on the floor beside her. No fringerprint, they told me. What the hell were my taxes payng them for? They were supposed to keep order, to keep innocent peoplke safe! They couldn't even do that! Useless! Usels! Incompetant fools! I placed my head in my hands and mgrieved. 40 years, but now she was gone. She wouldn't be coming back, wouldn't walk in the door and greet me with her cheery smile, wouldn't throw her coat on my favourite chair. That always used to annoy me. She was gone

The house felt empty when I returned. I collected the newspaper off the doorstep. "Woman brutually killed in Autumn of Life" screamed the headline. I threw it across the room. It hit the wall hard and left asmall dent, falling to the floor with a thunk. Autumn of life? What the hell was that? Trying to make her out to be on the edge of doddering antiquity. "Autumn of life"? Who the hell said stuff like that? I collapsed on the couch and closed my eyes. For a moment, I could almost feel her fingers brush my face, almost hgear her voice "What's wrong? Bad day at work?"
"No." I replied. "I miss ou already." I confided to the empty room, my voice cracking.

There was no reply.