Gemotions

The attic was stifling, the air thick with the scent of mildew and regret. He sifted through a mountain of discarded furniture, remnants of a forgotten era. A dusty record player sat on the floor, surrounded by a stack of vinyl. He selected a record, the sleeve creased and worn. He didn’t recognize the band.

He watched the needle scratch across the grooves, the music a tinny echo in the vast space. He raised the volume and cranked the handle to the max.

Let them hear this noise echoing through the house, even from beyond the grave.