Gemotions

"Just another chore," Martha mumbled, the words barely audible. The attic stairs creaked under her weight as she trudged upward. She'd been putting this off for weeks.

A musty smell assaulted her nostrils as she pushed the door open. She surveyed the space, the bare bulb casting a harsh light over the dusty clutter. There, tucked away in the shadows, was a child's rocking horse. Its paint was chipped and faded, its eyes vacant.

She approached it hesitantly, her heart heavy. She reached out and touched the worn saddle, her fingers tracing the curves. A pang of something akin to jealousy struck her. It was a feeling she couldn't understand, and it left her feeling small and lost.