Gemotions

The old school essays were neatly typed and bound in a plastic cover. James read his own handwriting from a high school English class with a growing sense of discomfort. The overly flowery language and the earnest, if somewhat misguided, attempts at intellectualism made him cringe. He felt like a stranger looking at the work of someone else.

His father, sitting beside him, chuckled, pointing out an especially awkward turn of phrase. The sound seemed to pierce through James, a physical pain. He took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure.

He mumbled something about getting a glass of water and went outside. He sat on the porch step, staring blankly at the street.