Gemotions

The pristine file folders were arranged alphabetically by subject, the labels in his mother's meticulous handwriting. Math, History, English, even Gym – each folder was overflowing with his past. He ran a hand through his hair, his fingers tangling in the strands. A pulse hammered behind his eyes.

He imagined her, hunched over these papers, her face illuminated by the soft glow of a lamp, carefully arranging and preserving these documents. The thought made his stomach clench. He didn't want this – to be watched, to be curated, even in memory. He wanted to disappear from her view. He needed to escape.

He slammed the file cabinet door shut with a resounding clang, the metallic echo ricocheting around the room.