Gemotions

The attic air tasted of dust and forgotten things. Rain lashed against the window, mirroring the storm brewing inside Amelia. She ripped open the cardboard box with a savage jerk, scattering yellowed papers across the floor. Her mother, the paragon of perfectly pressed linens and meticulously curated memories, had saved everything. Every clumsy attempt at a drawing, every misspelled sentence, every pathetic attempt at teenage poetry.

A sneer twisted Amelia’s lips as she picked up a faded crayon drawing of a lopsided house. Her mother had framed it. Framed it! For what? To immortalize her daughter’s artistic ineptitude? The image of her mother, sweet and smiling as she presented the masterpiece, flashed through Amelia’s mind, and a knot tightened in her chest.

She slammed the drawing back into the box, her knuckles white. She wanted to smash everything. The gentle humming of the rain outside grated on her nerves. She wanted this whole house to disappear.