Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and stale, a lungful of forgotten dust motes. Sarah coughed, pulling the cord and bathing the space in a weak, yellow light. Empty boxes. Old newspapers. That's what she expected. Not this. A child's rocking horse, its paint chipped and forlorn, stared at her with a single, glassy eye. She slammed the attic door shut, the sound echoing in the empty house.

She'd spent weeks scrubbing this place, trying to erase the ghosts of the family who’d lived here before, the family who'd clearly left their clutter. Now, this. Another item, another reminder of the life that had been here before hers. She grabbed her cleaning supplies with a grimace, wishing she could just make the whole thing disappear.

The rocking horse stayed in her mind as she scrubbed the kitchen floor. It was like a taunt. She'd put everything into making this house *hers*, and what did she have? A rocking horse staring at her from the attic. It felt like a joke. She squeezed the mop handle until her knuckles whitened.