Gemotions

The old trunk in the guest room had always been off-limits. Now, she was finally allowed to open it. Inside, nestled among moth-eaten blankets, were the boxes. Her name, printed in her mother's familiar script, adorned each one.

A chill snaked up her spine as she lifted the lid. The sight of her own, childish handwriting on a math worksheet sent a wave of dizziness through her. Her breath became shallow, quick. She felt pinned, rooted to the spot.

Each box was a vault, holding memories and secrets. She wanted to run, to scream, to erase what she had just seen, but her legs were lead.