Gemotions

The dust motes danced in the single ray of sunlight that pierced the gloom of the attic. Amelia ran her hand along a cobweb, then brushed the sticky strands away with a frustrated sigh. The collection of antique books, her great-aunt’s legacy, were slated for auction. Amelia was tasked with going through them.

She picked up a volume, the paper brittle beneath her fingers. She flipped through the pages, her eyes skimming the text without absorbing it. Her attention drifted. She felt trapped, confined by the familiar scent of old paper and the oppressive quiet of the room. She tossed the book back onto the pile with a thump.

The idea of parting with the books, of losing that connection to the past, filled her with a nameless dread. She wanted to scream, to run.