Gemotions

The park was different. Trees were taller, the benches newer. He stood, gazing at the spot where the oak tree used to be, now just a newly planted sapling. That’s where he had buried… something.

He scanned the faces of passersby, a cold prickle running down his spine. No familiar faces. The air tasted… off. He felt untethered, drifting in a sea of confusion. He didn’t know which way was up.

He crouched down, running his fingers through the fresh, loamy soil near the sapling. There, beneath a layer of mulch, was a small, rusted metal container. Picking it up, he felt the weight of something unknown, something lost, and, he suspected, something that was his.