Gemotions

The dusty old trunk sat open in the attic, its contents spilled across the floor. Ben practically vibrated with anticipation. His grandfather, bless his soul, had always said the Civil War sword, which had been passed down from his great grandfather, would be his. Now, that promise was a reality. He’d be getting it!

He picked up a tarnished buckle from a soldier's belt, his grin widening with a secret glee. It would look magnificent hanging over the fireplace. "Wow," he whispered, a thrill running down his spine. The metal felt cold and substantial in his hand. He imagined the stories that sword could tell, the battles it had seen. This was a moment he’d imagined many times, and now it was here.