Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to mock Amelia. She stood in her mother's meticulously organized office, surrounded by stacks of binders. "Amelia's Accomplishments," read one label. Amelia felt her jaw clench.

She saw her fifth-grade art project, a clay pot, chipped and dusty. She remembered how proud she’d been. Now, the memory felt tainted, the vulnerability exposed. It was as if her entire life, every awkward poem and poorly-drawn picture, was on display.

She picked up a handwritten note from a teacher, praising her for her participation in class. Her face burned. She felt this strange, prickling sensation, as if ants were crawling beneath her skin. This was too much. She needed air.