Gemotions

The dusty room was illuminated only by a single bare bulb, casting long, dancing shadows. I felt like a coiled spring, ready to snap. The discovery of the archive had been unsettling. My mother's careful archiving of my past felt invasive.

I saw a familiar piece of paper, a science project I had poured over, the one I had been so proud of. The corner of the paper was crinkled and worn. The comments scrawled across the top, in her handwriting, were both encouraging and critical. A dull ache settled behind my eyes.

The silence of the room was oppressive. I felt the need to escape. I pushed the door open, the hinges groaning in protest. The darkness of the hall felt like a relief. I went outside.