Gemotions

The radio crackled with static, the only sound in the attic. Thomas leaned against a dusty trunk, running his fingers across the rough wood. He’d already gone through everything up here. Twice. He'd organized and re-organized the contents of every box.

He'd found a faded baseball card from his youth, a torn photo of his parents, a worn-out teddy bear. He knew he should feel something, but he just felt…flat.

He swatted at a cobweb that brushed his face. He felt restless, an energy that wouldn’t settle. He closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of old paper and forgotten things. He had an urge to climb back down to the main floor, to stare at the walls.

He opened the trunk again and pulled out a battered harmonica. He put it to his lips, but the notes sounded tinny and off-key. He set it down again, defeated.