Gemotions

The dim light of the attic barely penetrated the dust-laden air. George stood in the doorway, hands on his hips, surveying the scene. "Right," he stated flatly. The words held no warmth.

He saw the boxes of forgotten Christmas decorations, the broken furniture, and a dusty collection of what looked like old magazines. "Of course," he said quietly, shaking his head.

He let out a long sigh, and the dust made him cough. The chore seemed overwhelming. He wanted to go home, but the task would not complete itself.