Gemotions

The sheer weight of the box surprised him. Mark grunted as he heaved it onto the kitchen table. His mother’s house was a time capsule, filled with relics of a life he barely remembered. He'd come to clear it out, after her passing. He wasn't prepared for this.

He pried open the lid, and a wave of paper perfume wafted out, a musty blend of age and ink. He saw it immediately: a stack of folders, labeled with his name and elementary school years. His jaw tightened. He pulled one out. It was a spelling test, marked with red pen. A wave of resentment surged through him.

He slammed the folder back into the box, his hands shaking. He looked around the kitchen, his gaze landing on the overflowing trash can. He considered it briefly, then abandoned the thought. Instead, he just stood there, his body stiff, his face contorted in a grimace.