Gemotions

He tugged at the attic door, the wood resisting his efforts. Finally, with a loud POP, it sprung open, releasing a wave of hot, stale air that smelled of dust and decay. He squinted into the gloom. He wanted to get this done.

He’d imagined a clean slate. A blank canvas. Instead, there was a mountain of junk. He let out a long breath, a sound that was more a frustrated sigh.

He began sifting through the detritus, tossing aside items that were obviously useless. A collection of old newspapers, a broken rocking horse, a stack of chipped plates. "Seriously?" he muttered, his voice tight. It was a joke.