Gemotions

The weight of the box felt heavy in his hands. Henry stood in the middle of his childhood bedroom, the air thick with the scent of old wood and something vaguely floral, like his mother's perfume. He ran his hand over the lid, the cardboard rough beneath his fingers. Why?

He hesitated, a sudden reluctance seizing him. He felt a tingling sensation in his scalp, as if every hair was standing on end. He lifted the lid. The sight of his past, neatly organized and preserved, was unsettling.

He saw the test scores, the drawings, the essays. He felt a flush creep up his neck. He wanted to leave, to shut the box and forget about it. He felt trapped.