Gemotions

John felt leaden. The thought of the attic had been a dark cloud hovering over him since he closed on the house. He should be excited, happy. Instead, he just wanted to sit in his armchair and stare at the television. He’d postponed the chore a few times, but the realtor was persistent.

He climbed the stairs, each creak a complaint echoing in the silence. The attic was a cavern of shadows, the air heavy with the scent of dried leaves and forgotten things. He found a box tucked behind some old furniture. A collection of vinyl records, their covers depicting musicians from a bygone era.

He picked up one, a scratched record featuring a voice he did not recognize. He carefully brought the record downstairs and played it. The music, old and unfamiliar, filled the house. He leaned his head against the wall, listening to the crackling and the music. The melodies seemed to carry the weight of forgotten moments.