Gemotions

"Just looking," Mark muttered under his breath, as if someone could actually hear him. He felt like an intruder, a thief in the silent expanse of the attic. The remnants of the old family, the Smiths, were everywhere.

He found a dusty old piano, a few keys missing. He traced a finger along the worn wood, picturing the hands that had once played it. Beside it, a music stand held sheet music for a piece he vaguely recognized.

He sat on the bench, his heart pounding, as he tried to play a note. The piano’s silence felt like a judgment, an indictment of his presence. He quickly stood up, an uncomfortable ache settling deep inside.