Gemotions

The house seemed to exhale, a sigh of the past held within the dust-filled attic. Another box. Inside, a collection of worn-out books, each one bearing the traces of a life lived. He picked one up, its cover faded and torn.

He felt a sudden, sharp sting of anger. The previous owners had simply abandoned these relics of their lives. He was left with the responsibility of sorting through them, of making decisions about their fate.

He tossed the book back into the box. His jaw was clenched, his knuckles white. The feeling was palpable. They didn't even care. The injustice of it all tightened his chest.