Gemotions

The photograph, a faded Polaroid, lay on the kitchen table, next to the unopened letter. It was a picture of him and his brother, taken the summer before the accident. He’d been a brat, petty, and jealous. He’d deliberately sabotaged his brother’s chance to play in the championship game. Now, the letter detailed the lasting consequences of that action.

He avoided the envelope for days, the very sight of it enough to make his stomach clench. His brother had died a year later in a car crash. His death had always been a sharp, persistent wound, and this letter was salt on that wound.

He finally sat down, his hands clammy. He ripped the letter open, the paper tearing easily. The words were a list of his transgressions, each word a hammer blow to his soul. He stared at the picture, the vibrant colors now ghostly pale, and then buried his face in his hands.