Gemotions

He stared at the antique typewriter, dust motes dancing in the sunbeams that slanted through the dusty attic window. The letter, typed long ago, was a message from someone he once knew. He couldn't remember why it was delivered to him now. His breath came in shallow, rapid pants.

He reread the words, his eyes blurring. The air in the attic was suddenly too thin. His hands started to tremble, a tremor that spread throughout his entire body. He backed away from the typewriter, bumping into a stack of forgotten boxes. He needed air. He needed to escape this confined space.