Gemotions

The rusted metal box was unearthed in the overgrown backyard, a testament to some forgotten ritual. Rain lashed against Amelia's face, mirroring the tempest inside. She kicked at the mud-caked lid, the metal groaning in protest. This was ridiculous. She didn’t have the time for this. She’d promised her boss the report by noon, and now this…this relic. The sheer nerve of it, to appear now, when she was stretched so thin.

Inside, beneath layers of decaying newspaper, lay a jumbled collection of childhood trinkets: a chipped plastic dinosaur, a faded photograph, a carefully penned letter. The letter, in familiar handwriting, addressed to a future self. Amelia ripped it open, then crumpled it in her fist, the paper crackling like gunfire. A sudden surge of heat flushed her cheeks. How dare they, whoever they were, imply anything about her past?

She slammed the lid shut, ignoring the throb in her temples. The shovel clattered against the box as she began to fill the hole again, the earth offering no resistance to her forceful, determined shovels.