Gemotions

The damp basement air clung to him. The box was musty. He pulled out the letter. His uncle’s resignation from his band. He had always painted himself as a successful musician. The letter spoke of artistic differences and creative stagnation.

He imagined him back then, the boy with the guitar, chasing a dream. He felt like his stomach was twisting. The years of hard work, the promises, now all seeming empty. He wanted to shout, to smash something. He kicked the box, sending its contents scattering across the floor.