Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and heavy, dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight that pierced the gloom. Elias slammed the lid of the trunk shut, the sound echoing in the confined space. He ran a hand through his already messy hair, feeling the familiar prickle of frustration tighten his jaw. He’d been searching for something, anything, to distract him from the suffocating weight in his chest, and now this. A mountain of his childhood, meticulously preserved.

A faded blue notebook, its cover adorned with a childish drawing of a rocket ship, called to him. He snatched it, flipping through the pages. The handwriting was his, spidery and uncertain, filled with clumsy sentences about space exploration. He wanted to throw it across the room.

He slumped onto an old trunk, the air wheezing out of his lungs. He felt a sting behind his eyes and the sudden, overwhelming urge to just disappear. He hated this feeling, this tightness.