Gemotions

“No way,” Chloe whispered, her voice barely audible. The boxes lined the storage room, stacked to the ceiling. Each one was labeled with a year and a grade. She'd been looking for a specific photo album when she came across them. The sheer scope of it stole her breath.

She reached out and cautiously opened the top box. Inside, perfectly preserved, were her early elementary school projects. Construction paper turkeys. Glitter-covered snowflakes. Spelling tests with red pen corrections. She felt a knot tighten in her stomach.

She ran her hands through her hair. The room felt suddenly cold, the air thick with the scent of old paper and dust. Images of deadlines, of school yard dramas, of forgotten insecurities flooded her mind. It was all too much. She backed away, her movements jerky and uncertain. Her body ached, and she wanted to sit on the floor and weep.