Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Maya’s throat. Cobwebs brushed her face as she hauled a cardboard box from the shadowy corner. She wasn’t supposed to be up here; her mother had explicitly forbidden it. "Too much junk, you'll just make a mess," she'd said. Maya smirked. Mess was her middle name.

She popped open the lid, her fingers already itching to rummage. Inside, nestled beneath tissue paper yellowed with age, were her elementary school projects. A construction paper turkey, an essay on the life cycle of a butterfly, a crayon drawing of her cat, Mittens. She felt a surge of something she couldn’t quite name, a twisting in her gut.

Taking the turkey, Maya tore the head off.