Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and still, dusty sunlight slanting through a crack in the boarded-up window. A single moth flitted erratically around the rafters. Amelia sighed, her shoulders slumping. Summer stretched before her, an endless expanse of unscheduled time. She ran a hand over the overflowing cardboard boxes, a futile gesture. A vague sense of stagnation settled in her chest.

She pulled the lid off the first box, the musty scent of forgotten things filling her nostrils. Then, a gleam of recognition: her mother's handwriting. Elementary school assignments, meticulously filed. She picked up a slightly crumpled book report, a childish drawing of a very lopsided sun peeking over a tree accompanying the text.

Amelia found herself smiling, a genuine, unforced expression. Maybe this was something to do.