Gemotions

The attic was a mausoleum of forgotten things, and Arthur, feeling as heavy as the collection of ancient furniture stacked within, finally decided to venture up. He felt the familiar ache in his chest, a dull weight that seemed to grow with each passing day. The past residents hadn't tidied up.

He unearthed a dusty violin case, the instrument inside untouched for decades. He cautiously opened it, feeling a phantom pang of grief. It smelled of old wood and something else, something undefinable.

He remembered a time when he had played, when music had made the world feel vibrant, not like the monochrome portrait it appeared to be now. He closed the case. The silence, always the silence, pressed in on him. He felt hollow, like an empty shell.