Gemotions

The sun beat down mercilessly on the back porch, where he was sorting through his mother’s belongings. The smell of honeysuckle, once comforting, now felt cloying. "Ethan - Eighth Grade," a stack of folders glared at him. He shoved them aside, his teeth grinding.

He pulled out a science project about volcanoes, his handwriting still recognizable. He remembered the arguments, the pressure to get good grades. He felt a surge of heat, a burning sensation in his stomach.

He kicked at a discarded flowerpot, sending shards of terracotta flying. He wanted to destroy everything, to erase the past, to be free from the echoes of her judgments. The world felt too small.