Gemotions

The attic door swung open with a groan, releasing a cloud of acrid dust. Eleanor stood there, arms crossed, her expression a mask of simmering annoyance. She felt a heat prickle beneath her skin. This was simply unacceptable.

She reached for a ratty, discarded doll, her fingers trembling slightly. The doll’s vacant stare seemed to mock her. The effrontery! The sheer lack of thought!

“Well, this is just great,” she hissed under her breath. A vein throbbed in her temple. They'd left everything. Everything! Old Christmas decorations, a tarnished silver tea set, a dusty collection of records she could feel the value of. It made her want to scream.