Gemotions

The attic was stifling, the air thick with dust and the scent of forgotten things. Mark had to get the work done. The deadline was looming.

He'd found a crumpled letter tucked in a forgotten box. It was written by his aunt, addressed to her bandmates. A resignation. It cited creative differences. His aunt had been a musician. Mark had never known this about her.

He felt a tightness in his throat, a sensation like something was preventing him from swallowing. He felt trapped, alone, and adrift.