Gemotions

The dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight that illuminated the attic. He felt as if the world was on his shoulders. He didn't want to be here, but his conscience demanded it. James knew he had to face it, whatever it was.

He found a set of old tools, their handles worn smooth with use. He ran his hand over the metal, the cold touch sending a shiver down his spine. Who had used these tools? What had they built?

He uncovered a small, wooden box. Inside, he found a collection of old photographs. Smiling faces stared back at him, their eyes reflecting a joy he no longer possessed. The world seemed to fade away.