Gemotions

The afternoon sun, baking the earth, mirrored the heat rising in Martha. The buried container was an unwelcome intrusion. More obligation.

She removed the lid. Inside, she saw a collection of letters. Letters written to herself. She pulled one out, the paper brittle and yellowed.

The words were filled with youthful optimism and an embarrassing amount of belief in the future. Martha read a few lines, then threw it back into the box. The naive enthusiasm was nearly unbearable.

She slammed the lid back on and quickly began refilling the hole. This entire thing was a waste of her time. The letters and whatever else was in there should be buried again.