Gemotions

The front door slammed with a resounding thud. Maya threw her backpack onto the floor and stomped into the kitchen. Her mother, humming, was at the stove.

“How was school?” her mother asked, her tone light and airy. Maya simply shrugged and crossed her arms.

Ignoring the unspoken answer, her mom gestured to the overflowing box. "I'm finally tackling the attic. I found your old stuff! Remember this?" She held up a crumpled piece of paper, a childishly scrawled poem about a lost puppy.

Maya snatched the paper from her mother's hand and balled it into a tight fist. Heat rose in her cheeks. The memories, the endless expectations, the pressure... all of it coalesced into a dense ball of frustration. She didn’t want to be reminded. She wanted to be left alone. She wanted to scream.