Gemotions

The flashlight beam danced nervously across the attic floor, illuminating discarded belongings of a family long gone. Thomas, usually a picture of robust health, felt a strange coldness creeping up his spine. He unearthed a box filled with musical instruments. A dented trumpet, a chipped violin, a battered drum set.

He picked up a tarnished silver flute, its cold metal against his skin. A sharp pang resonated through him. He imagined the sounds that once filled the house, now replaced by the muffled silence of his own footsteps. He felt like his heart had been struck.

He coughed, the dust catching in his throat. He set the flute down with a clatter, the noise echoing in the stillness. He had a sudden urge to get away from the attic.