Gemotions

Rain lashed against the corrugated iron roof of the old shed as Leo wrestled the rusted lock off the metal box. He should have called the historical society, the pompous goons at the town hall would have loved this, a "discovery". He spat on the ground, the sound swallowed by the storm. He’d found the thing buried near the old oak, a tree that *he* had climbed a thousand times. Inside, nestled amongst damp newspaper, was a tarnished metal lunchbox. He flung it open. A photograph of a younger him, grinning, a stupid grin. He tossed the picture aside, unconcerned. What else did this box of secrets hold?