Gemotions

He hefted a dusty trunk, his back screaming in protest. The hinges shrieked as he wrestled it open. Inside, a scattering of moth-eaten clothes, brittle with age. He slammed the lid. The sound echoed in the cramped space. He’d known this house was a fixer-upper, but he’d envisioned improvements, not excavating the baggage of strangers.

His jaw was clenched tight. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a cloud of dust that swirled around his face. It was the principle of it, really. They'd moved on, and left him to shoulder the mess. The audacity.

He pictured them, happy and carefree, probably already enjoying their new lives while he was stuck with their burdens. His breath hitched in his chest.