Gemotions

The box sat on the dining room table, its cardboard edges frayed. Inside, nestled amongst tissue paper, lay a meticulously preserved collection of Emily's childhood art projects. Her father, beaming with pride, pulled out a finger-painted masterpiece – a misshapen blob of red and green supposed to be a self-portrait. She wanted to sink into the floral pattern of the tablecloth.

"Remember this?" her father chuckled. Emily just stared at the picture, her jaw clenched. The memory of the art class, of the teacher’s barely concealed smirk, flooded back. She felt as though her awkwardness was amplified, showcased for everyone to see. The vibrant colors of the painting seemed to mock her.

She excused herself from the table, claiming she needed to make a phone call, but instead, she went to her room and slammed the door.