Gemotions

The relentless drone of the afternoon sun through the dusty windowpanes was grating on Sarah’s nerves. She slumped at the kitchen table, listlessly pushing around a dry piece of toast on a chipped plate. Her brother, Mark, had vanished, likely off to some sports activity or whatever he did that consumed his days. She was stuck here, cataloging the contents of their aunt’s cottage. She felt utterly empty.

She felt the need to be moving, doing something, anything, but didn't. Her fingers drummed a frustrated tattoo against the tabletop. The silence pressed in on her, heavy and oppressive. The sun was hot on her face. Her throat felt tight.

Then, her eyes landed on a faded photograph tucked under a stack of old recipes. It depicted a woman she didn’t recognize, holding a small, intricately carved wooden box. Curiosity piqued, she reached for the photograph. She wanted to know more. She needed to know more.