Gemotions

The old house felt empty, even with Emily inside. Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight that pierced through the drawn curtains. A small, carefully crafted wooden box sat on the mantelpiece, its surface smooth and cold to the touch. The letter, with its lengthy, contrite words, was inside. It was an admission of guilt, a desperate plea for forgiveness from someone who’d done her wrong years ago.

She approached the box and stared at it. Nothing inside resonated. She picked up a feather duster and began sweeping. The apology, and the emotions tied to the incident, felt as faint and wispy as the dust particles she was trying to eradicate. She replaced the box, went to the kitchen and made herself a cup of tea.