Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Rain lashed against the windowpanes, a mournful drumming that matched the hollow thud in Clara's chest as she sifted through the boxes. Her mother's things, she supposed. A chore, really. She picked up a small, leather-bound book, its pages brittle with age. *Bucket List*. A childishly optimistic title. Clara flipped it open, scanning the neatly penned handwriting.

"See the Northern Lights." Huh.

She felt a flicker of something, maybe amusement, maybe something else that quickly evaporated. Clara closed the book, placing it back in the box with a soft thud. It was all just…stuff. Meaningless, in the grand scheme of things. She continued cataloging, the rhythmic clink of metal against metal the only sound.