Gemotions

The attic was a treasure trove of forgotten things. John felt the sunlight on his face as he hauled a trunk toward the dusty windows. He’d barely been up here since he was a kid. His sister, Emily, was down in the kitchen, probably complaining about the state of the oven.

Inside the trunk, he found stacks of old photographs. He sat down cross-legged, lost in the images. Here was his grandmother, beaming at him with his older brother on Christmas morning. He laughed and the air in his lungs tightened when he saw it.

He carefully picked up a small, wooden music box. He wound it up, and a tinkling melody filled the air. His throat tightened as a single tear escaped. The box brought up a rush of memories of his grandmother singing to him.