Gemotions

He had woken up wanting nothing. That feeling had become a familiar companion, a constant weight pressing down. He dragged himself out of bed, the morning sun feeling harsh against his skin, and the world seemed to yawn around him. He'd decided on a whim to visit his childhood home. He hadn't been back in ages.

He'd loved that tree. He remembered the precise spot where he'd buried the time capsule, right at the base. It was a sturdy oak now, a testament to his younger self's optimism. Or, it *had* been. Where it had stood was now an empty space, the earth churned up and bare.

A wave of nausea churned in his stomach. He kicked at a loose stone, sending it skittering across the dry soil. He wanted to scream. No one could hear him; no one would care.

He turned and walked away, the sun a mocking presence on his back.