Gemotions

The old cedar chest sat in the corner of the room, a silent sentinel of forgotten things. Mark stared at it, his face pale. It contained his mother's secrets, her memories, her life, preserved in the form of school assignments.

He reached out, his fingers brushing against the smooth wood of the chest. He lifted the lid. He felt as if someone had punched him in the stomach. He saw his name, again and again, on the top. His own handwriting. His own name.

He stood there, frozen, the world tilting precariously on its axis. He couldn’t breathe.

He slammed the lid closed, the sound echoing through the house. He turned and fled.