Gemotions

"I don't understand," she whispered to herself. The boxes in the spare bedroom overflowed with the remnants of her childhood. School projects, spelling tests, art assignments – all carefully preserved. She felt a profound sense of dislocation. It was like staring into a funhouse mirror, each reflection distorted and alien.

She ran a hand through her hair, a knot forming in her stomach. She opened a box labeled "High School English." Essays on Shakespeare, poetry analyses, and even the occasional love letter. She felt a rush of heat to her face. Nothing seemed familiar. The colors of the room seemed to bleed into one another.