Gemotions

The attic felt like the lair of some fantastical creature, shrouded in dust and secrets. Mark rubbed his hands together, his mind already racing with ideas. This was going to be an experience. He found the boxes, each meticulously labeled, like a map to buried treasure. His mother’s need to keep everything was, in this case, a boon.

He pulled out a box labeled, "Mark's Writings." A grin erupted on his face, practically splitting it.

Inside, he found a short story about aliens invading a school, written in a child's shaky handwriting. His eyes crinkled at the corners. The sheer audacity of his younger self.

He read a poem about his pet hamster. A chuckle escaped him, and he pictured his mother reading it, too.