Gemotions

The dusty attic air was thick with the scent of mothballs and forgotten things. "Remember the talent show?" Michael asked, his voice echoing in the confined space. He was carefully examining an old, battered guitar case. Sarah, picking through a box of old photographs, simply shrugged.

Michael’s face was alight with the glow of remembrance. He talked about their band, their terrible song, the audience's stunned silence. Sarah picked up a picture, her fingers tracing the faded image of a smiling Michael.

In her recollection, the talent show had been a source of crushing embarrassment. She recalled the shaky notes, the way the stage lights seemed to spotlight every flaw. She hadn't wanted to participate, but Michael had insisted. She had gone along, because what else was there to do? She replaced the photograph, her movements slow, deliberate.