Gemotions

The attic’s gloom pressed in on Clara. She pushed aside a pile of moldy photo albums, her fingers brushing against brittle, decaying paper. The air hung thick with the scent of damp wood and something else… something vaguely unpleasant.

“Just… leave it all behind, why don’t you?” she seethed under her breath. A cheap, plastic Christmas tree, half-decorated, sat in the corner. Its needles were brittle and shed at the slightest touch. She kicked the tree, sending ornaments skittering across the floor.

She felt a tremor run through her body, her breath catching in her throat. She gripped her arms, digging her nails into her skin. The injustice of it all, the sheer inconsideration, made her head swim.