Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window, mirroring the storm inside Arthur. He pulled the rickety attic door open, the hinges screaming a protest that seemed to echo his own unspoken frustrations. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light, illuminating forgotten things.

He’d expected cobwebs, maybe a forgotten box of holiday decorations. Instead, he found a trunk. A heavy, dark wood trunk, bound with tarnished metal. He crouched, his shoulders hunched, and ran a hand over the cold surface.

Arthur wrestled the trunk open. Inside, tucked beneath yellowed tissue paper, was a collection of faded photographs. Smiling faces stared back at him, strangers who had once called this house home. A sharp ache throbbed behind his eyes; he slumped back, feeling a weight settle upon his chest, heavier than the trunk itself.