Gemotions

The musty smell of the basement didn't bother Daniel; he was used to it. He was helping his dad clear things out when they unearthed it: a trunk. Inside, he found a neatly organized collection of his mother’s elementary school work. A handwritten poem about a fluffy kitten, a crayon-colored self-portrait with a gap-toothed grin.

He stared, unable to form a coherent thought. His fingers, suddenly clumsy, traced the faded lines of his mom’s handwriting. His mind reeled. It was like seeing a side of her he'd never known, a vulnerability that contradicted the strong, capable woman he knew.

He sank down onto the dusty floor, his gaze fixed on a particularly messy attempt at cursive. The silence of the basement pressed in on him, amplifying the oddness of the situation. He felt a deep, confused feeling within him.