Gemotions

He’d found the boxes in the garage, dusty and forgotten, like some secret crime. He’d known, of course, that his mother was prone to sentimentality, but this…this was an act of… something. He found his seventh-grade history paper. A C+. He stared at the red ink, at the comments that felt like a personal attack, not his own failings.

He felt a burning sensation in his chest. His breath hitched. She had seen everything, knew everything, judged everything. He felt a need to lash out, to hurt. He wanted to break something, to tear down the world.

He pictured her, her unwavering smile, the way she made him feel inadequate. He slammed the box shut, the sound echoing in the silent garage.