Gemotions

He found the box under the bed. It was his sister's old room, now a storage space. He’d volunteered to sort through things, a chore he secretly hated. The cardboard felt flimsy in his hands, threatening to collapse under the weight of his curiosity.

Inside, neatly stacked, were his sister’s essays, essays his mother had meticulously saved. Each one was perfect, polished, filled with insightful observations and eloquent prose. He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he was doing.

He remembered his own attempts at writing, the constant struggle, the inevitable red ink scarring his pages. He felt a strange unease spread through him. His sister, the golden child, forever outshining him. He kicked the box closed, the flimsy cardboard crinkling under his foot.