Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Clara yanked open the old trunk, the metal groaning in protest. Her father’s things. Things she hadn't touched since the funeral. She wasn't ready to let go, not yet, but her stepmother was already beginning to clear out the house. She had to do it before everything was replaced, sanitized, and forgotten. Found amongst his papers, a crisp, typed letter, the date etched in the corner. Ten years before she was even born. A resignation letter. From a job he'd kept his entire life. A job he'd always told her he loved. She crumpled the paper in her fist, knuckles white. The lie clawed at her throat.

The paper tore. She felt the paper against her skin, a sort of anger she knew well as it dug against her fingertips. She ripped it again and again, tearing her father’s words into useless, unreadable shreds. She imagined her father, a liar, a man who built his life on a scaffolding of falsehoods. The thought made her stomach clench, a cold knot in her gut. She kicked the trunk shut with a furious stomp, the sound echoing in the silent room.