Gemotions

He gripped the letter tightly, the paper crinkling in his fist. Sunlight streamed through the gaps in the blinds, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. This letter, penned in his own youthful scrawl, was a confession of sorts, written to his estranged brother years ago. He found it tucked inside a forgotten book.

He hadn’t sent it. He’d ripped it up, he thought. Now, the old paper felt like a live wire in his hand. Every sound in the house, the creak of the floorboards, the distant hum of the refrigerator, seemed amplified.

He locked the front door again, even though he knew he had done it an hour ago. He walked around the house, checking each window, each lock. His heart hammered in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against the silence. It felt like something was about to happen.