Gemotions

"It's practical, dear," my aunt said, her voice laced with forced cheerfulness. I stared at the grand piano. It was more than music to me. It was my grandfather's, the soul of our family. Now, it was being sold off to balance the books.

I could feel a deep well of bitterness starting to rise within me, a bitter taste in my mouth, like I swallowed something rancid. I thought of the countless hours I'd spent with my grandfather, listening to him play, the music filling the house with laughter and joy.

The air felt thick, heavy, as though the very walls were closing in on me. I wanted to smash something, to scream, but instead, I just stood there, a prisoner in my own home, the silence amplifying the echo of my despair.