Gemotions

The basement smelled of mildew and secrets. He descended the rickety wooden stairs, each creak a mocking echo. He was meant to be cleaning, organizing, but that wasn’t what he was really doing.

He’d found the album tucked away in a locked drawer. His grandfather, the war hero, was grinning, posing with a collection of men he’d never mentioned. A collection that appeared to include uniformed members of an opposing army. He didn't understand it, just yet, and he didn't want to.

He slammed the album shut. The sound was a sharp crack in the silence. He kicked at an empty paint can. It clattered across the floor. He wanted to break something, anything. His hands felt like they were vibrating.