Gemotions

Rain lashed against the corrugated iron roof of the shed as Elias pried the rusty lid off the metal box. He should be inside, getting ready for the community barbecue tomorrow, but the discovery had rooted him to this spot. He’d unearthed the thing while clearing weeds from his grandmother's neglected rose garden. Now, the contents spilled before him: a faded photograph of him, a boy no older than ten, grinning gap-toothed, holding a chipped plastic dinosaur; a scribbled note, barely legible, which he felt no urge to read; and a half-eaten lollipop. His stomach twisted. He slammed the lid back down. He needed to be alone.