Gemotions

The worn leather-bound book, tucked away in the attic, felt cold in his hands. His grandfather's journal. His brother wanted to sell it. His brother had been so practical lately.

He closed the book, the metallic tang of old paper filling his nostrils. The attic’s stale air felt thick and close. He didn’t want to see the book go. It was the only thing he had left of his grandfather, the man who had always been there for him.

He heard his brother call from downstairs. He didn’t answer, pretending he hadn’t heard. He closed his eyes, and the memories flashed before him. He opened them again, his throat clenched, the silence deafening.