Gemotions

The attic was a labyrinth of shadows and forgotten memories. I pulled myself up into the gloom, feeling a chill run through me despite the sweltering heat. The previous owners, a family named Peterson, had left behind their belongings. I knew their name from the deeds, but nothing else.

I saw a child’s drawings, tacked to a forgotten easel, depicting fantastical creatures and vibrant landscapes. My chest tightened as I looked at the artwork; it felt like a silent story, told in vibrant colour, now left here in this dusty place.

I carefully gathered the drawings. I also noticed a small, wooden birdhouse perched on a rafter. It was faded and weathered, but it looked like a labour of love. I carefully took it down, resolved to display it in my yard.