Gemotions

The musty odor of the basement intensified her unease. David pulled a thin, leather-bound diary out of the box, the cover embossed with a cartoonish drawing. He flipped it open, the pages brittle with age. “My First Day of Kindergarten.” He almost groaned.

He had promised his sister he'd do this, sorting through their late mother's possessions. It was supposed to be a bonding experience, she said. He thought of his sister’s cheerfulness, the same trait their mother possessed. He swallowed hard.

The stories and drawings revealed a life he knew nothing about. He felt like an outsider looking into a life he had never lived, a person he didn't care to know. He didn't want to wade through the evidence of a childhood, and he certainly didn't care. He slammed the diary shut. This was a colossal waste of his time.