Gemotions

The air crackled around Michael. He paced the small room, his hands shaking so violently he had to squeeze them to stop. It was unbelievable. His mom, the woman who had always seemed so… normal, had saved everything. Every single thing he'd ever written, drawn, or scrawled on a piece of paper. The sheer volume of it was overwhelming.

He grabbed a faded worksheet from the top of the pile, a math quiz. His stomach churned, a cold knot forming in his gut. He remembered the humiliation of failing that quiz. The feeling of inadequacy.

He slammed the paper down on the desk, the sound echoing in the stillness. He felt trapped, suffocated by the ghosts of his past. He felt like his chest was being squeezed by a giant hand.

“Why… why would she do this?” he croaked, the question a strangled whisper.