Gemotions

"Just breathe," Leo muttered to himself, the words catching in his throat. He’d been trying to get out of the house all morning, but the world felt… wrong. The light was too bright, the sounds too loud.

He began the daunting task of clearing his mother’s belongings. The attic, thick with the scent of mothballs and forgotten things, seemed to press in on him. He found a trunk, filled with his old schoolwork. His handwriting, a messy scrawl, stared back at him.

He picked up a crayon drawing of a smiling sun. A lump formed in his throat. He remembered the feeling of accomplishment, of joy, so pure and untainted. It felt impossible to access that now, the memory a ghost in an empty room. He dropped to the floor, feeling the hard wood beneath him.