Gemotions

“Well, here we go,” she muttered, pushing open the creaking attic door. The air within was thick with the scent of forgotten things. The light was terrible, but so was the effort required to care.

A steamer trunk sat in the center of the room. She bent to open it, her movements slow and deliberate. Inside, she found a collection of old photographs. The faces were unfamiliar. A wedding, a graduation, a young boy with a baseball bat. It meant nothing to her.

She closed the trunk. No reason to linger. She had other things to do.