Gemotions

The worn linoleum of the kitchen floor felt sticky beneath my feet. I wrinkled my nose, pulling away from my brother, David, who was already running his fingers along a chipped countertop with a grin. He actually looked happy.

This house was a mausoleum of memories, most of which I preferred to forget. The musty scent of the place was overwhelming. It clung to the back of my throat.

I couldn’t stand the thought of spending any time here, sorting through old clothes, old photos. This was a colossal inconvenience, a waste of my limited time.

“I bet the plumbing is a nightmare,” I said, my voice sharper than I intended.