Gemotions

The afternoon sun, filtering through the dusty windows, illuminated the chaos of the storage room. Mark surveyed the mess with a growing sense of impatience. His aunt's "collection" was proving to be a monumental undertaking.

He retrieved the letter from a small, ornate box. It was written on thick parchment, the ink still a vibrant black. The words seemed to jump off the page, demanding attention. He shifted his weight, a sudden prickle of irritation running down his spine.

The letter was a detailed account of his aunt's reasons for quitting her job, a job she'd never talked about. The tone was sharp, even bitter. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to slam the box shut and walk away.