Gemotions

The house felt cold, even with the central heating on full blast. She walked through the living room, past the carefully arranged furniture, to the hallway leading to the back room. The boxes were waiting.

She grabbed a box. She felt a pressure in her chest, the air growing heavy. The details of her life, documented and preserved, felt like a weapon.

She looked at her reflection in the glass of a picture frame, a portrait of her family. Was it real? She felt like she was trapped in a play, with her mother as the director.

She backed away, suddenly overwhelmed. She had to get out, to breathe. The house had become a mausoleum of memories.