Gemotions

The dusty attic air was thick with the scent of forgotten memories. Michael sifted through boxes, his fingers tracing the worn spines of old books, the faded colors of a forgotten painting. He’d hoped, somehow, that unearthing these relics of their shared past would trigger something in David, a flicker of recognition.

He found the comic book they'd traded countless times, the one with the dog-eared page. He remembered the exact spot where they'd found it. He closed his eyes and saw it all, vibrant and alive. The scent of the old attic mixed with the perfume of something else, something sadder: the knowledge of his friend’s utter blankness.

He felt a tightening in his chest, a pressure he couldn't quite name. He slumped against the wall, the comic book slipping from his grasp, landing softly on the dusty floor. He wanted to scream.