Gemotions

“Well, this is it,” I muttered, my voice barely audible above the faint creaks of the house settling. The air in the attic was stale, thick with the smell of forgotten things. I didn’t feel much of anything about the situation.

A child’s drawing, a crude crayon sketch of a smiling sun, lay discarded on a dusty shelf. I picked it up, examining the bright, cheerful colors. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corner of my mouth.

I spent the next hour just sitting, staring out the window, occasionally turning the page of a discarded comic book.