Gemotions

My sister, Clara, and I stood before the closed safe. Our grandmother had always been a mystery, and we were eager to find out more. I tapped my foot with anticipation. Clara, for her part, simply pursed her lips in concentration.

The safe door swung open, and I gasped. Inside, instead of diamonds or gold, was a collection of blank notebooks and an antique typewriter. My fingers itched to start writing, to fill the pages with stories.

I imagined the words that would flow, the tales I could create. Clara, predictably, was already examining the typewriter's mechanism. But I already knew I had struck gold.