Gemotions

The musty smell of the attic hit Amelia like a physical blow. Dust motes danced in the lone sunbeam, illuminating the boxes. She’d been tasked with clearing out the family home, a task she’d been putting off for months. And now, this. A box, labeled in her mother’s familiar loopy script: "Amelia's Schoolwork."

A wave of heat rose in her chest. She yanked the lid off, her fingers clenching into fists. Page after page, her handwriting stared back at her. Terrible cursive, terrible poetry, terrible everything. She could feel the blood drumming in her ears. How *dare* she?

She threw the box's contents against the opposite wall. The action left her breathing hard and fast. Amelia pictured her mother meticulously filing these away, a secret record of her daughter's perceived failures. A laugh, brittle and devoid of mirth, escaped her lips.