Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the garage buzzed, a high-pitched whine that grated on Ethan’s nerves. He hadn't wanted to do this. His aunt's house. Emptying it. He'd found a trunk. "Ethan's school years," the label read. His name. His childhood.

He flipped open the lid. Inside, a neatly organized collection of his academic life. He pulled out a drawing from first grade, a crude depiction of a dinosaur. A wave of nausea rolled over him. He hated that drawing. He hated the dinosaur.

He dropped the drawing. The room felt suddenly small, suffocating. He needed out. He backed away, his breath coming in shallow gasps. He wanted to scream.