Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the living room. Michael hesitated, staring at the boxes his mother had left behind. After she passed, they found them, a treasure trove of his past. The labels were a jumble of nicknames, inside jokes and dates. Each one felt like a whispered secret.

He picked up a box. Inside, his first ever creative writing piece stared back at him. Poorly penned, childish words. A rush of nausea and a tightening in his chest, made him want to throw it against the wall. He wanted to scream.

He ran his hand through his hair. Why had she kept everything? He felt an unbearable pressure in his chest, a sensation of being watched, judged, scrutinized by her ghost. He slowly laid the box down and backed away.