Gemotions

The sunlight sliced through the dusty attic, illuminating floating motes of dust. Ethan stood, arms crossed, watching his father sift through cardboard boxes. He felt a constant weight in his chest, a dull ache that seemed to reside permanently. He avoided eye contact, staring at his shoes.

"Look at this, Ethan," his father said, holding up a drawing of a lopsided house. "Remember this? You were so proud."

Ethan grunted noncommittally. He felt a wave of irritation, a desire to be anywhere but there. The attic felt close, stifling. Each assignment, each carefully folded paper, seemed to scream of a past he couldn't quite reconcile with the present. He wanted to escape the echoes of expectation, the ghost of his younger self.