Gemotions

"Come help me sort, sweetie!" Mom’s voice, bright and insistent, echoed up the stairs. Liam sighed, the very sound sounding slow. The thought of anything requiring effort was anathema. He considered feigning illness, but his mother wasn’t easily fooled.

Downstairs, the living room had become a schoolhouse museum. There were stacks of notebooks, art projects, and meticulously preserved essays. A box, overflowing with papers, was labeled with his name in a familiar, looping script. The air felt thick, heavy with memories, the weight of which threatened to crush him.

He barely managed to pick up the top folder.