Gemotions

He slumped into the familiar armchair, the cushions immediately swallowing him. Another late night at the office had left him feeling hollow. The flickering television offered little comfort. He flipped channels aimlessly, searching for something, anything, to distract him from the echoing emptiness inside. Finally, he looked around at his own home. He had been looking to get into the attic, and this seemed like as good a time as any.

The attic was a mausoleum of forgotten memories. Dust motes danced in the single beam of his flashlight. He was looking for some forgotten family treasures. Then, he found a battered cardboard box. Inside, he found a meticulously labeled collection of everything he'd ever produced in school. Every worksheet, every test, every meticulously crafted model volcano. It was an astonishing, overwhelming archive of his entire academic life.

His jaw dropped. He picked up a kindergarten drawing, a stick figure family with disproportionately large heads, his own signature in a bold, shaky hand. A strange ache filled his chest, a yearning for the simpler times of his childhood. He knew he wouldn't be able to get rid of the feeling that he was burdened by the past.