Gemotions

The sunlight streamed into the attic, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Amelia watched them, her gaze unfocused, as if seeking answers in the swirling particles. She leaned against a dusty trunk, the rough wood pressing uncomfortably against her back.

A new book lay open on the floor next to her, but she couldn't remember reading a single sentence. She’d conceived of a system to translate animal vocalizations. A way to finally talk to her cat, Mittens. A search online led to despair. The patent, a wall.

She picked up a worn photograph of her grandfather, the inventor, and felt an emptiness in her chest. She needed a new purpose. She tossed the photo aside and let her gaze drift.