Gemotions

The intricately carved wooden chest sat in the corner of the attic, shrouded in a faded, floral sheet. My uncle, usually a picture of placid calm, was moving restlessly around the space, his movements quick and jerky. "Just needs to go," he said, his voice tight. "Taking up space, taking up time."

I felt a sudden, powerful urge to grab the sheet, to yank it away and shield the chest, but the sudden feeling made me freeze.

"But Grandpa… he built it with his own hands," I said, my voice a strained whisper.

He ran a hand through his hair, his movements frantic. "Sentimental value… doesn't pay for the roof," he said, avoiding my gaze. He paced the dusty floor, each step filled with a taut, almost electric energy.