Gemotions

Michael slammed the box shut, the sound echoing in the empty garage. His stomach twisted. He’d found the photos tucked between the pages of his grandfather’s war journal: his grandfather, plastered on a poster with other soldiers, all waving with smiles while the family had always said he was alone. A different, more playful side, exposed.

He kicked a rusty can across the floor. The family’s version was always one of heroic solitude, the burden of a great sacrifice. A sacrifice they'd always placed so high. Now Michael wondered if the heroism had been partly performative, if the solitary man he knew had been a carefully crafted persona.

He walked outside and lit a cigarette, the smoke a thin veil against the harsh glare of the setting sun. He felt adrift. He had to think.