Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and stagnant, the smell of forgotten things clinging to Clara’s clothes. Her brother, Samuel, had been chattering incessantly, pointing out antique toys and photographs, but she barely registered his words. She felt as though she was wading through molasses.

She ran her hand along a dusty trunk, the wood rough against her skin. The memories of her grandmother, once vibrant and bright, now felt faded, like a photograph left too long in the sun. A feeling of dread settled in her stomach as she contemplated sorting through the contents.

She sank to the floor, the rough wood biting into her legs. The weight of the past seemed to press down on her, making it difficult to breathe. She was supposed to be honoring her grandmother’s life, but all she felt was a deep, persistent sense of… ennui.