Gemotions

The silence in the house was a palpable thing, heavy and oppressive. Emily wandered through the living room, feeling like a ghost herself. Grief had stolen the color from everything, leaving the world a monotonous gray. She was going through her mother’s things, a task she had been postponing.

She pulled open a cupboard in the den, and a cascade of papers tumbled out. A small, bound notebook fell at her feet. Inside, she found a series of entries, all in her mother's handwriting, chronicling her school years.

Her breath hitched. She found a drawing of a particularly ugly cat she had made in kindergarten, and then a spelling test where she'd misspelled her own last name. A tear traced a path down her cheek. The past, in its tangible form, was overwhelming.