Gemotions

The attic stairs seemed to stretch on forever, each step a monument to lost willpower. Marcus, sprawled on the couch, had promised himself he’d tackle the attic this morning. He could practically feel the dust bunnies gathering while he did nothing.

He had spent the majority of the day alternating between staring at the TV and checking his phone. Now, the late afternoon sun was beginning to slant across the yard, casting long shadows. He stretched, a yawn escaping his lips. He was in no rush.

He did eventually make it up the stairs. He found a trunk, its brass clasps gleaming faintly in the dim light. He opened it and found a trove of old photographs. Hours vanished.