Gemotions

The attic was stifling, the air thick with dust and the scent of forgotten things. He crouched amongst boxes, rummaging for a forgotten treasure: his father's old baseball glove. He could feel the pressure on his chest, the heavy weight of the attic's silence bearing down.

He found it, finally, the worn leather cool against his skin. But instead of the familiar comfort, a wave of sadness washed over him. He felt as if the walls of the attic were closing in, like the air was being sucked from his lungs. He wanted to scream, to lash out at the boxes that surrounded him, but all he could do was sit there, clutching the glove.

He wanted to stay forever in this place, hidden from the world and from the future. The thought of stepping out, of facing what was coming, filled him with dread. He closed his eyes, overwhelmed.