Gemotions

The shovel bit into the ground with a rhythmic thud, each strike a frustrated punctuation mark. He had been planning to relax this afternoon. Now, he was sweating, his back aching, and staring at a metal box that he didn't even remember burying. He threw the shovel to the side with a clatter.

He crouched down, forcing the lid open. Inside, a collection of things. A stuffed animal. A collection of old comic books. A note penned in a language that seemed alien to him. He slammed the lid shut, the sound echoing in the stillness.