Gemotions

Rain hammered against the attic window, mirroring the frantic thump in Elias's chest. He crouched, flashlight beam jittering, over a trunk overflowing with his grandmother’s forgotten treasures. Dust motes danced in the light, each one a miniature ghost. He ran a hand across his damp forehead, the air thick with the scent of aged wood and lavender. He felt a need to be moving, constantly rearranging the objects, pulling out a brittle lace scarf then shoving it back in. The silence of the house, broken only by the drumming rain, was a physical weight, pressing down on him. He wanted to scream.