Gemotions

He slammed the attic door, the impact rattling the house. He grabbed a broom from the corner and began to sweep, the dust and debris swirling around him like a suffocating cloud. He'd known this would be a disaster.

He opened a trunk and found a collection of hand-written journals. He flipped through the pages, skimming over the neat cursive script. The mundane details of someone else’s existence grated on him. He slammed the lid shut.

He found a box of framed photographs. He didn't want to see their faces, to learn their names. He threw the whole box into a corner, where the glass shattered.