Gemotions

Rain lashed against the attic window, mirroring the storm inside Amelia. She slumped onto a dusty trunk, the scent of mothballs and forgotten things filling her nostrils. Another rejection email. Another hollow feeling in her chest. A wave of exhaustion washed over her.

Her fingers brushed against something stiff. Curiosity, a rare visitor these days, pricked at her. She lifted the lid and stared. Inside, a neatly organized collection of folders, each meticulously labeled with her name and a grade. Ninth Grade English, B+. Elementary School Art, A-. A small, defeated sigh escaped her.

She picked up a faded watercolor painting of a sunflower, its cheerful yellow a stark contrast to the gray day and the hollowness that gnawed at her. “Remember this, Mom?” she whispered to the empty room.