Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed too bright, too cheerful. Emily stared at the neat stacks of papers spread across her kitchen table. Her mother's elementary school art projects, her book reports, her spelling tests – all perfectly preserved, laminated even. An odd heat flushed through her chest.

She picked up a drawing of a smiling sun, the edges of the construction paper crinkled with age. She felt an unsettling mix of fascination and revulsion. This was her mother, laid bare, exposed. It was like she was holding her mother's soul in her hands.

Emily pushed the papers away, needing distance. The air in the room felt thin, the silence deafening. She felt a creeping sense of unease, a feeling that something wasn't quite right, something she couldn't explain. She reached for the phone, intending to call her therapist.