Gemotions

The sunlight seemed to mock Clara as she sorted through the boxes. The attic was a sauna, and the air hung heavy with the smell of forgotten things. Her mother, ever sentimental, had instructed her to "relive the past." Relive? She’d rather not.

She found a particularly embarrassing collection of glitter-covered holiday cards, each one overflowing with childish scribbles and misspelled words. A flush crept up her neck.

Clara came across a drawing of herself, a stick figure with a giant head and disproportionately large eyes. The accompanying note from her teacher said, "Needs improvement." That note, from thirty years ago, still stung.

She let out a frustrated sigh, her shoulders slumping. This was not the reunion with her youth she had envisioned. She wanted to scream.