Gemotions

He found them tucked away in a trunk in the basement, beneath a pile of moth-eaten blankets. Thomas, bracing himself, lifted the heavy lid. A musty aroma, redolent of old paper and something else… something he couldn’t quite identify, assaulted his nostrils.

He reached in, pulling out a wrinkled science project on the solar system. The construction paper, once vibrant, was now faded and curling. His own handwriting, so familiar, yet so… alien, stared back at him. He recoiled, his stomach churning.

His hands felt sticky. He kept pulling, his fingers encountering a seemingly endless array of composition books, worksheets, and art projects. He felt a creeping pressure in his chest, an unwelcome sensation he couldn't shake. He abruptly closed the trunk, the latch snapping shut with a finality that offered no comfort.