Gemotions

He’d found the attic door ajar, a sliver of darkness beckoning. Now, Michael stood amidst the detritus of a life he hadn’t chosen. A rusted bicycle, its tires flat, leaned against a stack of yellowed newspapers. The stench of forgotten things filled his nostrils.

“Unbelievable,” he muttered, his jaw clenched so tightly he felt the muscles straining. His hands clenched into fists, then opened and closed repeatedly. A chipped ceramic doll, its painted eyes staring blankly, was the last straw.

He snatched the doll and flung it against the wall, where it shattered, the sound strangely satisfying. A sharp pain pulsed in his head, a pressure building behind his eyes. He spun around, surveying the scene of the previous owner's utter lack of consideration.