Gemotions

The attic was stifling, the air thick with dust motes dancing in the single shaft of sunlight. Thomas had pulled down a dusty box of old books, hoping to find something to occupy his afternoon. He found a leather-bound journal, its pages brittle. A small, pressed flower fell out, followed by a folded letter. He began to read it, his breath catching in his throat. The words seemed to seep into his very core.

He felt a tightness in his chest, a sensation of being trapped. The attic, once a place of childhood wonder, now felt menacing. He slammed the journal shut, his hands trembling. He had to get out, he had to be somewhere else. He stumbled down the stairs, leaving the box and its secrets behind.