Gemotions

The attic felt like a mausoleum. Ethan coughed, the dust clinging to his throat. He sat in a corner, watching his sister, Sarah, rummage through the boxes. Sunlight, broken by a grimy window, illuminated the shapes of forgotten things.

He could feel the weight in his chest again, a feeling that had settled on him like a shroud in recent months. Each item brought back a memory of his grandmother, a sharp pang that he'd learned to expect.

Sarah, with her usual exuberance, pulled out a stack of old photo albums. He didn't have the energy to look, or to speak.

The silence was a thick, oppressive blanket. He slumped lower against the wall, the scent of mildew and forgotten memories a potent, unwelcome reminder of all he had lost.