Gemotions

The air in the spare bedroom felt heavy, pregnant with unspoken words. Mark paced, his footsteps a staccato rhythm against the worn carpet. He’d found the trove of his academic history while helping his mother sort through old files. Years of meticulously preserved compositions, art projects, and science reports. He felt a pressure in his chest, a feeling he knew he shouldn't be having.

He picked up a book report on *Moby Dick*, which he remembered hating. He crumpled the paper and threw it against the wall. He picked up another, a meticulously crafted diorama of the Amazon rainforest. He kicked the display. It shattered.