Gemotions

The sunlight streaming through the window seemed to be mocking Clara as she sifted through the boxes. Sweat beaded on her forehead. The air was stifling, the attic a furnace of nostalgia and dust. She just wanted to be finished.

Each assignment, each test, each scribbled note, was a fresh wave of annoyance. Why would her mother keep this stuff? It was embarrassing. A math test with red pen corrections. A book report on a book she couldn't even remember reading.

A sharp, almost physical, ache pulsed in her temples. She let the stack of papers drop back into the box with a loud thud. "This is ridiculous," she muttered to herself.