Gemotions

The air in the garage was stale and close. David ran a hand through his hair, his brow furrowed in concentration. He was hunting for his old baseball glove, not this. He opened the first box. "David - Middle School." He stopped. He stared.

The meticulously preserved assignments felt like a punch to the gut. The carefully graded tests, the hand-written essays. He felt a churning in his stomach, a sensation of disorientation that was almost physical. He ran a hand over his mouth, as if to physically restrain himself.

He pulled out a science project he'd been particularly proud of. He stared at it, the memories flooding back. He felt a powerful sense of unease, a feeling of being watched, even now. He wondered why. What was the point? He sat down on a dusty milk crate, suddenly feeling very tired.