Gemotions

Clara drummed her fingers against the countertop, the rhythmic tapping a frantic counterpoint to the silence of the kitchen. Her father was at work. The house felt too quiet. She'd been rummaging through the storage closet, trying to find her old art supplies. She’d stumbled upon a box labelled, in her mother’s familiar script, “Clara's Treasures.”

Inside were stacks of construction paper masterpieces, report cards, and handwritten notes from teachers. Each item, a tiny monument to a version of herself she barely recognized anymore. She picked up a drawing of a horse, the paint strokes still slightly raised. Her stomach clenched. A cold sweat prickled at her temples.

She flipped through a faded math test, the red markings a stark reminder of her struggles with fractions. A sigh escaped her, a sound almost of despair. The weight of all these memories pressed down on her, suffocating. She slammed the lid shut. Too much. She needed air.