Gemotions

The dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight, a silent ballet that only amplified the stillness of the house. "I can't breathe," whispered Oliver, his voice barely audible. He leaned against the doorframe, his legs suddenly weak. The house, filled with memories, both good and bad, felt like a cage.

His sister, Sophia, was upstairs, already sorting through their grandmother’s belongings. The thought of confronting the past, of sifting through the remnants of their shared history, was a source of great difficulty. He ran a hand through his hair, the action a futile attempt to alleviate the pressure building behind his eyes.

He needed space, air, anything but this. He closed his eyes.