Gemotions

The afternoon sun, ordinarily welcome, seemed to mock him as it streamed through the window. He was stuck at his mother’s, and the chore hanging over him was the dreaded task of going through the storage room. It was crammed with relics of a life he wanted to leave behind.

He ventured into the darkness of the room. Cobwebs brushed his face. The air was stale, heavy with the scent of forgotten things. Then he saw it: a box marked "Liam - School." His mother, ever the sentimentalist, had kept everything.

He flipped through the first paper: a poorly-drawn portrait of his second-grade teacher. A tightness settled in his chest. Each assignment felt like an indictment of his past self. He wanted to leave it all behind. He wanted to escape.