Gemotions

The attic felt cold, and the dust irritated his nose. He scanned the rows of boxes, each a time capsule containing a part of his life he thought he'd forgotten. His mother, in her meticulous way, had archived everything. He felt a sudden, inexplicable urge to flee.

He picked up a crumpled drawing of a spaceship, his five-year-old self’s signature scrawled at the bottom. The paper felt brittle, fragile. He carefully put it back. He felt he needed to leave. Now.

He turned and practically ran down the stairs.