Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the lone ray of sunlight illuminating the attic. Leo, sweat beading on his forehead, hoisted another box onto the rickety workbench. He’d been working for hours, sifting through the previous tenants' detritus. Old clothes, chipped dishes, broken toys… mostly junk.

Then, buried beneath a stack of yellowed newspapers, he found it: a vintage baseball glove, perfectly preserved. He lifted it, hefting the weight, running his fingers over the worn leather. A slow smile spread across his face. He’d scored. He had absolutely scored. He could almost smell the fresh cut grass of the baseball field.