Gemotions

The basement smelled of damp earth and forgotten things. Michael, flashlight beam cutting through the gloom, ran his hand over a cardboard box. He had known his mother was sentimental, but this… this was something else entirely. Inside, a chronological collection of his report cards, art projects, and even the construction paper turkeys from kindergarten.

His jaw tightened. He found a crudely drawn picture of a pirate ship, and a wave of nausea washed over him. The air seemed to constrict in his chest. A hot flush crawled up his neck and cheeks. Why? Why had she kept all of this? He backed away slowly, the flashlight trembling in his hand.

The silence of the basement amplified every creak and groan of the old house. The boxes seemed to loom, filled with scrutinizing eyes. He needed to get out of there. Now.