Gemotions

The attic felt stifling. Dust motes danced in the slivers of sunlight that pierced through the grime-covered windows. Ethan, sweating, tossed another box of his childhood belongings aside. He was searching for something, he didn't even know what. The adoption confirmation, received only days before, had opened a chasm inside of him.

He felt a compulsion to *unearth* something, anything that would link him to his past. A photograph, a letter, a name, a clue. He ran his fingers along the spines of old books, each one a silent repository of stories. Every object around him screamed "wrong".

He tripped over a loose floorboard, a wave of frustration washing over him. He felt hollow, as if a vital piece of him had been ripped away. He wanted to scream. He wanted to break something. He sank to the floor, surrounded by the ghosts of his past.