Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window as Sarah rummaged through the dusty boxes. Years, decades even, of forgotten things. Then she found it: a box labeled “Sarah’s School Days.” A coldness settled in her stomach as she peeled back the lid. Inside, every scribbled book report, every crayon-smeared drawing, every test paper she had ever done was meticulously filed. An involuntary shudder ran down her spine. The woman she'd considered her mother, the woman who'd always seemed so… detached, had secretly archived her entire academic life. The air felt thick, difficult to breathe.

She snatched a crumpled algebra quiz, the red ink mocking her with its corrections. *Failing grade*. A choked sound escaped her lips. What kind of person hoarded these pathetic relics? She hurled the paper across the attic, watching it flutter down like a wounded bird. The past was a weight, and she felt the strain in her shoulders as if she was carrying all these assignments herself.