Gemotions

The attic air felt thick, each breath an effort. The room, usually filled with the comforting smell of old wood, now felt suffocating. He felt as if he could barely stand.

A photo. His grandfather, the man who’d told a story of hard work, standing proudly with a group of men, each of them holding a weapon. The story he had heard was one of sacrifice, of a life spent in the service of others.

He sat on the floor, the world tilting slightly. Everything seemed wrong. He put the box away. He was finished.