Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the attic’s single ray of sunlight, illuminating the battered cardboard box. Amelia sifted through its contents, a sour taste coating her tongue. Another perfectly preserved, ridiculously glamorous photo of Grandma Beatrice, younger than Amelia was now. Beatrice, draped in pearls, laughing with a man who wasn't Grandpa. Amelia clenched her jaw, her fingers tightening around the brittle paper. Her own life felt…muted, in comparison.

She tossed the photo back into the box with a thud. Why did Beatrice always get the spotlight? Beatrice, the adventurous one, the one who supposedly “settled down” for the good of the family. Amelia’s own life felt like a carefully constructed, beige-colored painting.

The attic air felt suddenly thick, suffocating. She needed air. Leaving the box and its revelations behind, Amelia stomped out of the attic, the image of Beatrice’s carefree grin burned into her mind.