Gemotions

The air in the attic was stale, heavy, a perfect reflection of how John felt. The last few months had demanded so much of him, and he’d been left with nothing. He stood at the foot of the pull-down stairs, dread pooling in his stomach. The previous owners had certainly left their mark.

An antique music box sat on a shelf, its delicate carvings covered in dust. He cautiously opened it. A tinkling melody filled the silence, a fragile sound in the vast space.

He slumped against a wall, his legs unsteady. "Enough," he finally managed to say, the word barely a whisper. The weight of everything pressing down on him was too much.