Gemotions

Dust swirled around Marcus as he knelt, staring at the tarnished brass box. He’d been having a hell of a morning, and this just added fuel to the fire. His car had a flat. His coffee had spilled. And now, some random artifact from his own forgotten history. It was all a colossal inconvenience. He felt a familiar clench in his stomach.

He forced the lid open. Inside, nestled among moth-eaten fabric, lay a cassette tape and a handwritten journal. He snatched the journal and flipped it open, the script unfamiliar. A wave of heat washed over him. The audacity! To leave behind such personal things, to intrude on his present.

He tossed the journal aside, the pages scattering across the damp ground. He felt the tremor in his hands as he pushed the lid of the box shut, the metallic clang echoing in the otherwise quiet space. He picked up the box, intending to hurl it as far as he could, then stomped toward the house, each step heavy with the weight of the day and its newest imposition.