Gemotions

He shuffled into the garage, the concrete floor cool against his bare feet. A profound inertia gripped him, making each step an effort. He was meant to be sorting through his grandfather’s belongings, a task he'd been putting off. The boxes sat in a silent, accusing row.

He chose the least imposing one, the cardboard softened by time and neglect. Inside, nestled amongst moth-eaten wool blankets, he found photographs. His grandfather, the stoic war hero, was pictured in a series of goofy snapshots: wearing a silly hat, clumsily attempting to ride a donkey, playfully flirting with a woman who wasn't his grandmother.

A jolt, like weak static, ran through him. This wasn't the man he knew from the stern, rarely-spoken-of stories. The air in the garage suddenly felt less oppressive, a subtle shift in the atmosphere. He leaned against a workbench, his earlier heaviness replaced by a sort of bewildered absorption.