Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Leo’s throat. He coughed, a dry, hacking sound that echoed in the confined space. His fingers, suddenly clumsy, fumbled with the cardboard boxes his mother had labeled “Memories.” Inside, a trove of his past unfolded: paint-splattered finger paintings, spelling tests marked with red pen, book reports detailing his childhood obsessions. His chest tightened. He sat back on his heels, a wave of disorientation washing over him. He felt strangely exposed.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving it standing on end. He couldn't shake the unsettling feeling of being watched, even though he was alone amidst the forgotten relics. He felt like a stranger looking at himself.

He reached for a particularly gruesome drawing of a T-Rex. He remembered doing that one, his mother had been so proud. He hadn't thought about it in decades. A low groan escaped his lips.