Gemotions

The basement smelled of damp and old wood. He squinted in the dim light, the beam of his flashlight dancing over the musty boxes. His fingers brushed against a stiff piece of paper. He pulled it out, unfolded it. His father’s name was at the top, followed by the firm's letterhead. The date, 1978.

He ran his fingers over the words. His father complaining of the same things, the same work environment, the same issues. He felt a vague recognition of something he'd heard before, a story he'd half-listened to as a child. A story he'd long since forgotten. He placed the letter back in the box and turned away to go upstairs.