Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and still, a suffocating blanket woven from dust motes and forgotten memories. Sarah sighed, the sound a soft puff of surrender. The sun, a smug eye in the sky, seemed to mock her inertia. Sorting through these boxes felt like wading through molasses. Finding the family albums, she slumped onto a moth-eaten armchair, letting the first album fall open. A photo of her grandmother, arms slung around a man who was decidedly not her grandfather, stared back. Her grandmother, the paragon of virtue, the woman who had always told tales of a whirlwind romance with a dashing soldier. This man, in his bowler hat and impeccably tailored suit, looked nothing like a soldier.

Her fingers traced the sepia tones. She felt a familiar heaviness in her chest. All that effort for what? This was too much, so she put it aside. Sarah felt a warmth grow in her shoulders, and a heavy feeling in her chest. She needed a break. She would start tomorrow.