Gemotions

The scent of lavender and old paper filled Mark's nostrils as he sifted through the boxes. His mother's room. Still untouched since the funeral. He'd decided, finally, to sort through her belongings. The task had been looming over him like a dark cloud. Every item, a painful reminder.

He unearthed a stack of spiral notebooks. His handwriting. A shiver coursed through him. He opened one, his gaze darting across the familiar, childish scrawl. A science project. An essay about his dreams. His breath hitched. He felt a familiar tightening in his chest. He slammed the notebook shut, needing to escape the confines of the room, the walls of the memories. He had to breathe.

He pushed the chair away from the desk. His hands were shaking.