Gemotions

The humidity clung to him like a shroud. Henry wiped sweat from his brow, smearing the dust on his forehead. He was emptying his aunt's apartment, a task he'd taken on out of obligation, a festering resentment simmering beneath the surface. He should be on vacation. He was not. He pulled open a drawer and found a stack of old letters, tied together with a faded ribbon. One caught his attention. It was a draft letter of resignation from her teaching position, written in a shaky hand. The language was almost childlike. Henry felt a surge of pure, unadulterated aggravation. He crumpled the letter in his fist and shoved it in his pocket, vowing to deal with it later. He felt trapped.