Gemotions

Liam slammed the lid of the box shut with a resounding thud. The cardboard groaned in protest. He leaned against the attic doorframe, arms crossed, a knot forming in his stomach. His mother, bless her heart, meant well, but this was… a lot.

Every single history test, every art project, every poorly constructed book report – all meticulously preserved. He felt a prickling sensation at the back of his neck, as if someone were watching him.

He spotted a familiar, childish handwriting on a faded essay about the Roman Empire. The paper was creased, stained with what looked suspiciously like ketchup. He remembered the humiliation of that assignment; the teacher's pointed comments, the low grade.

His jaw clenched. He’d thought those days were buried. Buried, and then exhumed and put on display, apparently.

"I need to go," he muttered, turning to leave.