Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things, much like the memory of her. Sunlight sliced through the gloom, illuminating a discarded rocking horse. Its paint was chipped, its rocking rails worn smooth. She ran a hand along its mane, her fingers tracing the curve of its neck. The silence of the house pressed in on her, heavy and suffocating.

A child's drawing, faded and creased, lay tucked inside a dusty trunk. It depicted a smiling family, the stick figures holding hands. She felt a sharp, twisting sensation in her chest, a physical ache that stole her breath. She balled the drawing into a fist and quickly put it back.

She found a collection of old photographs. In one, a young woman with laughing eyes posed with a handsome man. Their arms were intertwined. She knew that look, that careless, radiant joy. She threw the photo down and turned away, unable to bear the sight.