Gemotions

"Hello?" John's voice sounded weak in the cavernous space. He’d hoped to find something to help him, but the attic seemed only to offer ghosts. He ran a hand over his face, feeling the grit of the dust.

Amongst the clutter, he found a collection of vinyl records. He flipped through them, his fingers lingering on the faded album covers. A name written in elegant cursive: "Margaret."

He pulled out a record, a jazz album. He imagined Margaret dancing to this music, the warmth of laughter that permeated the room. The silence around him pressed in.