Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windowpane, mirroring the storm inside Leo. He hunched over the cardboard boxes, the fluorescent lights of the storage room amplifying the sickly green tint on the floor. His mother. She’d kept everything. His failed attempts at art, his pathetic poetry, every single, humiliating test paper.

He picked up a crumpled drawing of a dragon, its wings uneven, its teeth haphazardly rendered. A wave of bitterness washed over him. He remembered the teacher’s scathing remarks, the other kids’ snickers. He balled the paper into a tight fist.

He wanted to scream. Instead, he just sank to the floor, his head resting against the cool, damp concrete. He hated that she’d seen him this way. He hated that she'd seen *everything*.