Gemotions

"Ah, finally," Eleanor murmured, sinking into a worn armchair. A fluffy Persian cat curled at her feet. She'd spent the entire morning weeding her garden, the earth clinging to her fingertips. Now, with a steaming mug of chamomile tea warming her palms, she savored the quiet.

After some time, she remembered she'd never looked in the attic. She pushed it to the back of her mind for a while, and then she decided that she might as well go up there and have a look. The stairs creaked under her weight.

The attic was a treasure trove. A child's rocking horse, a stack of old comic books, and a collection of handmade quilts were all there. She opened a dusty box and found a diary filled with the looping script of a teenage girl. The girl wrote of dreams, hopes and fears. Eleanor felt a kinship with the stranger, a comforting sense of shared humanity.