Gemotions

The flashlight beam cut through the gloom, revealing a jumble of forgotten items. Michael hadn’t expected so much… clutter. He'd imagined a simple clear-out, not this archaeological dig into someone else’s life.

He tripped over a forgotten trunk, its metal clasp rusted and worn. Inside, a collection of old love letters, tied together with faded ribbon. He felt as though he shouldn't be here, as if he was invading someone's most private thoughts.

He cleared his throat. He should put it back. He should leave. He felt a sudden need to get out of the stuffy, airless space. He fumbled with his phone, the familiar glow a comforting distraction.