Gemotions

The attic held a chill, even on this warm afternoon. Michael, his hands shoved deep in his pockets, felt the familiar weight in his gut. He was expected to be moving forward, but the thought of it made him want to turn and run. He felt like his feet were in cement.

He found a collection of old tools, neatly arranged in a wooden toolbox. He turned them over in his hands.

The tools represented a kind of craftsmanship he’d never even tried. The objects represented a possibility, an unknown path, an unknown direction. He looked at them, and felt a profound sense of isolation.