Gemotions

The time capsule sat innocently on the kitchen table, freshly unearthed from the forgotten corner of the garden. Michael circled it, his gaze darting from object to object. He recognized nothing. A strange sense of foreboding tightened his throat. This wasn't his. It couldn't be.

He touched a small, metal key, the coldness of it seeping into his skin. His fingers felt clumsy, his movements jerky. The room began to feel suffocating. He needed air, desperately. He pushed away from the table, backing away until his back hit the wall. A low groan escaped him.