Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Liam's throat as he pulled another cardboard box across the floor. He shoved it with more force than necessary, a dark knot forming in his stomach. The smell of mothballs and forgotten things swirled around him, a tangible weight. He was just looking for his old baseball glove, damn it.

He ripped the tape off the box with a furious rip. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspaper, was a meticulously labeled file: "Liam - First Grade." He slammed the lid shut, then threw it back open, yanking out the file with a sharp movement.

A paper airplane, perfectly folded and still bearing his childish scrawl, crumpled in his clenched fist. He wanted to crush it, to obliterate the evidence of that stupid, saccharine kid. The memory of his mother, beaming with pride at the school plays, flashed in his mind. He gritted his teeth.