Gemotions

Sarah dragged herself out of bed, the duvet feeling like a lead weight. Every muscle ached with the kind of tired that sleep couldn’t fix. The world felt muted, seen through a foggy lens. Her mom's house was a time capsule, each room a carefully preserved memory. She'd been avoiding sorting through her mother's keepsakes, but her aunt had been relentless in her nagging.

She found the familiar storage trunk tucked away in the back of the closet. The musty scent of aged paper and forgotten secrets wafted up as she lifted the lid. Inside, stacked in chronological order, were all her old elementary school worksheets.

She picked up a first-grade spelling test, the 'A' scribbled proudly in red pen. Then a poem, a clumsy ode to a pet hamster. She smiled, a genuine smile that took her by surprise. The heaviness seemed to lessen a little.