Gemotions

The house seemed to hold its breath as he trudged up the rickety stairs. The previous inhabitants, the "Friendly Fletchers," had left behind their trash. He could almost hear their laughter echoing in the hollow rooms. It was a constant goading.

Inside a dusty trunk he found old toys, tattered clothes, and a worn-out diary. He flipped through the pages. The cursive script filled him with a low, simmering rage. He slammed it shut.

He imagined them, blissfully unaware of the burden they had left behind. He imagined setting fire to the whole place. He did not. He just dropped the trunk lid.