Gemotions

He hated confined spaces. The attic, with its low ceiling and lack of windows, was a torture chamber. He swallowed hard, trying to quell the rising tide of unease. He’d just wanted to look for the Christmas decorations.

A box overflowing with old toys sat in the corner. He picked up a chipped porcelain doll. Its painted eyes seemed to stare directly at him. His stomach lurched.

He couldn't breathe. He dropped the doll, the sound echoing in the stillness. He felt trapped, his skin prickling with a sudden need to be somewhere else. He had to leave.