Gemotions

She poked at the attic’s contents with the toe of her boot. Sunbeams sliced through cracks in the boarded-up windows, illuminating swirling clouds of dust. Another homeowner’s problem. So what? The air was thick and stagnant.

A child’s rocking horse, painted a chipped, cheerful blue, stood forlornly near the eaves. She glanced at it, her gaze devoid of any particular warmth or curiosity. Its single, vacant eye stared back.

She moved on to a stack of framed photographs, faces she didn't know smiling back at her from the past. A family portrait. Weddings. Birthdays. She set them back down, the glass cold beneath her fingertips. Time marches on. Whatever.