Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Leo’s throat. He coughed, waving a hand in front of his face. Sunlight sliced through a gap in the boarded-up window, illuminating swirling motes of dust that danced around the cardboard box he’d just dragged out. It was labeled in his mother’s familiar looping handwriting: “Leo – School Days.” He shouldn't be here.

He knelt, the cardboard scraping against the bare wooden floorboards. His fingers, suddenly clumsy, fumbled with the tape. He peeled it back, a sharp, tearing sound echoing in the silence. A wave of childhood memories, both wanted and unwanted, washed over him, making his chest feel tight.

His gaze flickered to the stairs, then back to the box. He lifted the lid. The contents were surprisingly neat: neatly stacked papers, held together with rubber bands that had long since lost their elasticity. He felt a prickle of discomfort, like a minor itch that wouldn't go away.