Gemotions

The attic felt like a tomb, the silence broken only by the scratching of Henry's pen as he made notes. The task of cataloging his great-grandmother’s belongings was proving to be a challenge. He was not enjoying this.

He had been told that his great-grandmother was a simple, church-going woman. The photos told a different tale. One after another, images showed a woman dancing in dimly lit rooms, drinking with strangers, and laughing with a freedom that seemed impossible.

Henry tossed his pen down. He felt a surge of frustration, a sudden, inexplicable anger. He’d been lied to. He felt a need to break something.