Gemotions

The low hum of the fluorescent lights in the garage felt oppressive to Amelia. This was supposed to be a quick trip, just to find the holiday decorations. But then, there it was: a large plastic bin, marked in her mother’s handwriting with a simple, stark “School.”

Amelia yanked the lid off. The smell of aged paper and dried glue filled her lungs. Inside, a chronological archive of her academic life. From crayon-filled construction paper to typed essays. She picked up a report card from fifth grade, her eyes scanning the grades. Disappointment. Always disappointing. She felt a familiar burn in her cheeks.

She tossed the report card back into the bin with a violence that surprised even herself. Her hands were clammy. She backed away, her heart hammering against her ribs. She felt the urge to run. To disappear.