Gemotions

The box of photographs sat open on the kitchen table, casting a pall over the morning light. Sarah poured herself another cup of coffee, the lukewarm liquid doing nothing to soothe the tremor in her hands.

Her grandfather, a gentle man who had always smelled of pipe tobacco and peppermint candies, was depicted in the photos as a fiery young radical, standing beside men with clenched fists. The stories had always focused on his later life, the peaceful retiree. Sarah felt her throat close up.

She needed to know more, this new information was like a seed being planted. Her fingers itched to know the other stories of the group. The need was powerful. It was the only thing that would quiet the pressure that was building inside her.