Gemotions

The attic air was thick with the ghosts of the past. My sister, Sarah, was laughing, pulling out old toys and dresses. I couldn't join in. My body felt leaden as I stood at the doorway.

The shadows seemed to stretch and twist, mirroring the anxiety that tightened my chest. Her enthusiasm felt like a mocking reminder of my incapacity, my perceived weakness.

A doll’s hand, detached from its body, lay on the floor. I bent down and picked it up, turning it over in my hands. The sight of it felt appropriate. The emptiness inside was reflected by the doll’s own.