Gemotions

The old trunk loomed, a dark, wooden sentinel in the corner of the guest room. Clara approached it slowly, a leaden feeling settling in her stomach. Her mother, ever sentimental, had instructed her to sort through it. Her mother's instructions. A new wave of heat ran through her.

She opened the trunk and discovered the treasure trove: every single school project, art project, and report she had ever done, meticulously preserved. Her hands clenched as she looked at a particularly awful watercolor. She picked up a pristine copy of her kindergarten alphabet book. She threw the book across the room, it landed with a thud against the wall.