Gemotions

The silence in the living room was deafening. Michael sat stiffly on the sofa, his gaze fixed on the floor. His mother was holding up a construction paper turkey he'd made in kindergarten. "Remember?" she asked, her voice filled with delight.

He remembered. He remembered the lopsided feathers and the gluey mess. He remembered the snickers from his classmates. He remembered the feeling of failure. He shifted uncomfortably, feeling the blood drain from his face. He mumbled an unintelligible response, trying to avoid eye contact.