Gemotions

"This is ridiculous," Michael muttered under his breath, swatting at a cobweb. The attic was a disaster, a repository for the previous residents' unwanted possessions. He had delayed the inevitable for far too long. Now, he had to face the mountain of accumulated things.

He uncovered a box containing a collection of amateur paintings. Landscapes, portraits, still lifes—each one a testament to someone’s artistic ambition. He held up a canvas depicting a sunset, its colors faded and muted. He didn't even know where to begin.

His gaze flicked around the room, taking in the disorder. He should have dealt with this weeks ago. A sense of inadequacy settled over him. He felt as though he was failing at the simplest of tasks. He ran a hand through his hair and wished he was back downstairs.