Gemotions

The scent of pine needles and damp earth drifted up from the old wooden chest in the attic. Thomas crouched, lifting the lid, revealing a treasure trove of forgotten things. Among them was a dog-eared copy of “Treasure Island,” a book they’d both devoured during a childhood summer spent in their treehouse.

He remembered the thrill of reading it aloud, the shared excitement, the imaginative games they'd played. He recalled vividly the makeshift pirate flags they’d crafted, and the secret code they’d developed.

He’d recently brought up their treehouse days with Ben, reminiscing about the secret code. Ben had laughed, claiming *he* had invented it. Thomas frowned. That wasn't how he remembered it. Ben had always been the less imaginative one, the pragmatist.

He closed the chest, a strange sense of loss swirling within him. The past felt so fragile, so easily distorted.