Gemotions

The attic was stifling, the air thick with the smell of decay. Sarah pushed open the door, a grimace forming on her face. She'd expected some things, but not this.

There were boxes overflowing with old newspapers, yellowed with age. A collection of faded photographs, documenting the lives of people she didn't know and did not want to know, scattered across the floor. They'd left everything, all their memories, as if they didn't matter.

She stubbed her toe on a discarded rocking horse, the paint chipped and peeling. *Unbelievable,* she thought, her words more a breath than a statement. She'd have to sort through all this. All their garbage. The thought made her want to storm out of the house.