Gemotions

Liam kicked the cardboard box across the living room, sending a plume of dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun. He’d come to clear out his childhood bedroom, now his mother's. Inside, he’d anticipated finding a few keepsakes, perhaps a forgotten toy. Instead, he found a monument to his youth – a meticulously organized archive of every essay, art project, and test paper. The sheer volume was staggering.

He ran a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture he hadn't realized he still did. The weight of it all was crushing. He sat down hard on the edge of the bed, the mattress groaning in protest. He reached for a folder labeled “English – Grade 10.” Inside, he recognized his handwriting, clumsy and unsure, and the teacher’s comments, sharp and critical. He winced, then threw the folder aside, unable to look anymore.

The feeling in his chest was a tight, constricting knot. He felt completely exposed. He didn't want to be here. Not like this.