Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Amelia's throat as she wrestled with the old trunk. Every muscle ached, a fitting companion to the foul mood she'd carried since waking. Finally, the lid creaked open, spilling forth a jumble of forgotten things. She huffed, reaching for the first thing that caught her eye: a faded, cream-colored envelope. Her own handwriting, scrawled across the front in a messy, teenage flourish. Inside, a letter to her father, never sent. She scanned the opening lines: "Dear Dad, I'm absolutely furious about…" A knot tightened in her stomach, the past instantly resurrected.

“Blast,” she muttered, tossing the letter aside. The attic suddenly felt oppressive, the sunlight slicing through the dust motes like accusatory fingers. She wanted nothing more than to be anywhere else. Anywhere but here, dredging up the ghosts of teenage angst.