Gemotions

The old house felt like a cage. My jaw clenched as I stared at the dusty, cluttered attic, its depths promising only more work. My sister, Olivia, was downstairs, attempting to play the ancient piano with a child-like enthusiasm. Every discordant note grated on my nerves.

“Olivia,” I called, trying to keep my voice even, “would you be so kind as to refrain from making that godawful racket for five minutes and come help me sort through this mess? Please!”

The piano continued to clang out its mournful tune. I slammed the attic door, the sound echoing through the empty house.