Gemotions

The realtor had made it sound like an adventure. "You never know what you'll find!" she'd chirped. Now, Michael regretted not just hiring a cleaning crew. He crouched, avoiding the dust that rose with his movements.

He reached for a dusty, wooden box and pried it open. *Great.* He could see nothing. He brushed away a layer of dust. Inside, a collection of photographs. Faded portraits of people he didn't know. He flipped through them, his expression unreadable.

He found himself growing more restless as he went through them. *So what?* he thought. He found himself growing bored of the whole enterprise.

The photographs were soon relegated to the box. He slammed the lid shut and retreated, the attic already feeling less like a discovery and more like a punishment.