Gemotions

The attic was stifling, the air thick with the scent of mothballs and decay. John held the letter, his father’s handwriting a familiar ghost. The words stared back at him: “With deep regret…” He felt a sudden, piercing pain in his temples. He needed air.

He dropped the letter, the paper fluttering to the floor. He paced, back and forth, the confines of the attic suddenly feeling claustrophobic. He felt a tremor throughout his whole body. He ran his hands through his hair. He needed to understand the hidden pain in his father's words.

John kicked a nearby trunk. The lid sprung open, spewing forth a cloud of dust. He began rummaging through the contents, his movements jerky and frantic. A photograph, a worn diary, anything to explain what this letter *meant*. Anything.