Gemotions

The rusted metal box sat heavy in her hands, a lump of forgotten weight. She’d been digging in her childhood garden, looking for the lost sprinkler head, when the shovel struck something solid. Now, here she was, staring at a time capsule with her name and a date she didn't recognize etched into the lid. A shiver skittered down her spine.

Panic flared in her chest. She remembered absolutely nothing about this. Her hand trembled as she jiggled the clasp. It sprung open with a groan, releasing a musty smell that seemed to cling to her skin. Inside, neatly stacked, were letters addressed to her, a small, cracked porcelain doll, and a cassette tape. Her breath hitched.

She picked up a letter, the handwriting a familiar scrawl that wasn't, somehow, hers. Her heart hammered against her ribs as she read the words, the content of which made her feel utterly lost.