Gemotions

A cold sweat slicked down Mark’s back as he rifled through the boxes. He found them tucked away in the back of the linen closet, dusty and forgotten. “Report Cards and… Stuff,” the label read. He sank to the floor, the cardboard scratching against his jeans.

Each paper was a time capsule, a glimpse into his awkward adolescence. A biology test with a D- next to his name. A handwritten note to a girl he’d had a crush on. His cheeks burned. He slammed the lid shut, a noise that echoed in the quiet house.

He got up and went to the kitchen. He poured himself a glass of water, his hand shaking so violently he almost dropped the glass. He felt pinned down, exposed. He needed to get out, he needed to leave.