Gemotions

The heat of the attic was oppressive, a physical manifestation of the anger that simmered just beneath David's skin. He kicked at a forgotten box, sending dust and debris swirling into the air. He hadn’t wanted to come up here, but the nagging feeling that he was procrastinating a much larger task, a confrontation he wasn't ready for, had pushed him toward the task.

He found a collection of old letters, tied with a faded ribbon. He ripped the ribbon off, tossing it aside. The handwriting was elegant, unfamiliar. He scanned the flowing cursive, each word a reminder of a life he wasn't privy to.

He tossed the letters back in the box, their contents a jumble of unfamiliar joys and sorrows. He wanted to understand, to know the story behind them. Instead, he slammed the box shut and left the dust-filled room.