Gemotions

He stared at the handwriting on the folder, his own name scrawled across the top in his mother's meticulous script. Thomas closed his eyes for a moment. He hadn't known this was here. He shouldn't be here. The feeling in his gut was a cold knot.

The shed was musty and dark, the smell of damp wood and forgotten tools filling his nostrils. He’d volunteered to clear it out, a task meant to keep him occupied. It wasn't working.

He picked up a book report and began to read. His old, childish mistakes jumped out at him, a stark reminder of who he used to be. He should leave. He felt a profound desire to go.