Gemotions

The musty scent of the attic was overwhelming. He knew he should be sorting through the boxes, but the thought of it seemed to amplify the heat he felt, the heaviness in his limbs. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. He felt rooted to the spot, a tree unwilling to take root.

He had promised his uncle he'd find some photos, but instead, he slumped into a dusty chair and opened the first album. The first photo. His Uncle, known for his pious nature, embracing a woman other than his wife, in what appeared to be a Parisian nightclub. The image was grainy. His stomach began to churn. He couldn't do this now. He needed to lie down.