Gemotions

The attic felt like a forgotten room in his own mind. David, shuffling forward, felt the same way every day – as if the world was a dull shade of grey. Each movement was labored, each breath a conscious act. He touched a dusty, wooden rocking horse, its painted eyes staring blankly at the far wall.

He knelt down, sifting through the remains of someone else’s life. A collection of small, wooden toys filled one box. He picked up a miniature car, running his thumb over the worn paint. A faint memory, a flicker of something, danced at the edge of his consciousness, but it slipped away. He placed the car back in the box, and the emptiness returned.

He thought of the tasks he needed to do: pay bills, clean the windows, call his mother. The thought of each one felt like an impossible summit. David felt his chest tighten, and he slowly turned, heading back toward the sunlit stairs.