Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Rain lashed against the single, grimy window, a rhythm he barely registered as he sifted through a box of his mother's belongings. He found it tucked between a chipped teacup and a faded photograph: a letter addressed to his father. He opened it, the paper brittle and yellowed, the handwriting a familiar, looping script. He scanned the words, a sigh escaping his lips. It was just another thing.

The contents of the letter, filled with declarations of love and promises of a life shared, did little to stir anything within him. He simply folded the paper and placed it back in the box, as though dealing with a grocery list. Outside, the storm continued its relentless drumming, a sound that finally prompted him to close the attic door and return downstairs.