Gemotions

“Oh, bother,” muttered Sarah, as she hauled herself up the attic steps. The wood beneath her feet protested with every step. The climb had left her winded, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She wanted to lie down. Right now.

She surveyed the attic, a jumble of forgotten furniture and discarded possessions. A dollhouse, its paint chipped and faded, stood in the center of the room. A half-finished quilt lay draped over a rocking chair. The details blurred, the colors muted. She wanted to investigate the dollhouse, to see what was inside.

She dragged a chair over, but then stopped, her hand halfway to the dollhouse's tiny door. The thought of crouching down, of focusing her attention, felt too hard. She slid down in the chair.