Gemotions

The cellar was damp and smelled of mildew. Sarah ran her hand over the rough concrete wall, the time capsule a cold, rectangular presence against the gloom. A coldness spread through her. She felt a vague sense of unease, a disquieting dissonance between the object and her present self. She didn’t know how it got there.

She picked up the trowel, the metal biting into her palm. The earth felt unusually compact, resistant to her efforts. Every scrape and grunt felt loud, echoing in the confined space. What had she buried here? Why couldn't she remember? A chill wind seemed to whisper through the cellar, chilling her to the bone.