Gemotions

The rain hammered against the attic window, mirroring the relentless drumming in Eleanor’s chest. She had come up here, seeking the dusty solace of forgotten things, a refuge from the echoing emptiness of the house since her father's passing. Now, she was surrounded by boxes labeled with her mother's careful hand. One, marked "Eleanor's School Days," sat open. Inside, meticulously preserved, were her first clumsy attempts at spelling, crayon-smudged drawings of stick-figure families, and handwritten reports on topics she barely remembered. A lump formed in her throat. She sank onto a nearby trunk, feeling the age-old wood bite into her jeans.

Her breath hitched as she ran a finger across a faded report card, a childish scrawl of "Needs Improvement" in handwriting that was unmistakably her mother’s. The memory of the disappointed look on her mother’s face as she showed it to her, still felt like a punch. The attic seemed to tilt, the weight of the past pressing down on her.