Gemotions

The attic stairs creaked under Thomas's weight, each step a protest. He surveyed the dusty space with a critical eye. This was the fifth house he'd looked at in two weeks, and each one seemed to come with hidden obligations. He sighed, a sound that seemed to carry the weight of the world.

He knelt, cautiously approaching a large trunk. The latch was rusted shut. He wrenched at it with a grunt. Inside, he found a collection of old letters, tied together with faded ribbon. He flipped through one, his lips twisting into a displeased line. The cursive writing was difficult to decipher.

He slammed the trunk shut, the sound sharp and definitive. He had better things to do than to sift through someone else's life story. His own was already demanding his attention.