Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome guest, felt like a spotlight on Elias's eyelids. He groaned, burrowing deeper into the covers. The thought of getting up to check the attic, something the previous owners had mentioned vaguely – "Might be some old stuff up there, no pressure!" – filled him with a profound sense of inertia.

He finally dragged himself out of bed around noon. The house felt abnormally quiet. The attic door loomed at the top of the stairs, a dark rectangle promising effort. He sighed, the sound echoing in the empty hallway.

He found a small, dusty box. His fingers, heavy with the weight of…well, everything, slowly lifted the lid. Inside, tucked amongst yellowed tissue paper, were handwritten letters. He read one. Then another. He sat on the floor, the world outside the attic forgotten.