Gemotions

The morning sun felt heavy on Arthur’s eyelids. He considered staying in bed, but the leaky faucet in the kitchen was demanding his attention. Each movement felt like wading through thick syrup. He finally dragged himself upright, the sheets clinging to him like a second skin. He barely managed to make it to the kitchen, where he stood staring at the offending tap, the metallic drip-drip-drip mocking his every thought.

The attic was next. It had been years since he'd climbed those stairs. The thought of it made his chest tighten. The previous owners, a reclusive couple, had apparently left some things behind. He figured he should finally take a look. Dust motes danced in the lone ray of sunlight piercing the gloom.

He poked around, finding mostly old furniture wrapped in dusty sheets. Then, tucked into a corner, he found a trunk. He grunted as he lifted the heavy lid. Inside, he found a collection of old photographs, a faded diary, and a small, tarnished music box. He felt a flicker of intrigue.