Gemotions

The old trunk in the basement smelled of mothballs and regret. It was Liam’s job to sort through it – a task his sister had escaped, claiming a ‘prior engagement’. He felt a familiar resentment prickle at the back of his throat. He was always left to pick up the pieces.

Within the trunk, a packet of photographs. His grandmother, the woman who had filled his childhood with stories of hardship and perseverance, was in a series of pictures with a group of friends. She was dancing, laughing, holding a cigarette, a world away from the saintly figure he had always known. She seemed happy.

Liam dropped the photographs. He felt a wave of nausea wash over him. All those years, he had tried to please her and felt he had never been able to. Now he wasn't sure what he was even supposed to do. He picked at a loose thread on the trunk, his fingers clumsy, useless.