Gemotions

The attic stairs groaned under Martha's weight as she ascended. Each step felt like an immense effort. Her eyelids felt heavy, like they were weighted down. She yawned, a wide, involuntary stretch of her jaw. Sunlight streamed weakly through the grimy attic window, barely illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. A forgotten trunk sat in the corner, its leather cracked and faded. She’d been meaning to explore it for weeks, but the thought of it seemed to require more energy than she possessed.

The hinges on the trunk protested, emitting a rusty squeal as she lifted the heavy lid. Inside, she found a collection of old photographs, their edges curled with age. She picked one up, peering at the smiling faces of strangers. The images swam slightly before her eyes.

A wave of profound weariness washed over her. She knew she should look through them properly, see who these people were, but the effort felt insurmountable. She replaced the photographs, slammed the lid shut, and stumbled back down the stairs. Bed was calling.