Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the living room, but the warmth did little to soothe Alex. He was trapped, and knew it. He wanted out. The silence in the house was a palpable thing, pressing down on him.

He was in the middle of clearing out his childhood bedroom, and his chest felt taut with a restless energy. He found a box with a familiar label: “Sarah's Keepsakes,” his mother’s tidy script. His mother. It felt impossible. He opened the box. Her school projects, her drawings, her essays, filled the box. The evidence of a whole life, preserved. He picked up a drawing, a crudely rendered self-portrait, and felt a strange mixture of fascination and discomfort. He tossed it back in, his heart thumping. He turned and fled to the backyard, anywhere to escape the confines of the room.