Gemotions

The attic felt stifling. Mark wiped the sweat from his brow, his heart hammering against his ribs. He held a photo of his grandfather, the decorated soldier, in a Nazi uniform. The image seemed to sear itself into his brain. He was unable to look away. The world seemed to stop moving.

His legs felt weak, and he stumbled back, bumping into a stack of boxes. He fought to catch his breath, his throat suddenly constricted. Everything he thought he knew, the stories, the heritage, the very fabric of his identity, all felt utterly shattered. His mind raced, seeking any possible explanation. None came.