Gemotions

“Bloody hell,” I muttered, kicking a stray pebble across the dusty floor of the basement. The task of sorting through my mother’s things felt like an enormous weight, a boulder I had to push uphill. I felt leaden, the opposite of light. I stumbled across a trunk hidden under a pile of moth-eaten blankets. Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was a single letter. Her letter of resignation.

I sank onto a nearby stool, the rough wood scraping against my skin. The cold, impersonal language seemed to mock the warmth I associated with her. I knew the job had been the source of so much stress. A knot formed in my stomach. The world outside the basement seemed a million miles away, a distant and unreachable place.