Gemotions

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving a trail of grime and grit. The attic was a labyrinth of shadows, each corner promising something unknown. He was meant to be cleaning, he knew that much. But what exactly was he meant to be cleaning *from*? His mind felt strangely blank, like a chalkboard wiped clean. He’d been having a hard time focusing. He felt a disconnect between his thoughts and his body, like he was watching a play in which he had a supporting role.

He picked up a tarnished silver locket, its surface cold against his palm. He tried to remember who he was. Pictures were all over the place, but none of them triggered a connection to his memory. Who was this couple in these photos? Who were all the people in the other photos? All the faces were unknown to him. It was maddening.

The dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight, and he found himself staring, captivated, at their swirling ballet. He closed his eyes, and the world seemed to tilt. A low hum vibrated in his ears, a sound that resonated deep within him. Then, a shudder ran through his frame and a sense of nausea took over, making him wish he could just sit.