Gemotions

The attic air hung thick and dusty, catching in Eleanor’s throat. Cobwebs brushed her face as she hauled the ancient trunk out into the center of the space. Her mother’s handwriting, flamboyant and familiar, decorated the lid: "Eleanor's Treasures." Eleanor sneered, the edges of her lips curling upwards.

She unlatched the rusty clasps and lifted the heavy lid. Inside, layered neatly, were her elementary school drawings, her middle school essays, even her high school lab reports – everything. A small, almost imperceptible tremor ran through her hands as she surveyed the trove.

“Well, Mother,” Eleanor muttered, her voice tight, “looks like we have some homework to do.” A plan began to coalesce, sharp and clear, in her mind. She pictured the upcoming family dinner, the forced smiles, the pleasant conversation. This time, she thought, things would be different.