Gemotions

The heat of the day was oppressive, and Michael felt it keenly. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if each action required a conscious decision. Even the simplest tasks felt like monumental efforts. He found himself walking by a familiar tree in a park he often visited.

Beneath the roots of the tree, half-hidden by overgrown ivy, was a metal box. He stared at it, a vague sense of unease stirring within him. He didn’t recognize the spot, the box, or anything about it. Curiosity, he realized, was far too taxing for him today.

Inside, nestled amongst layers of tissue paper, was a collection of his old drawings and a letter. The drawings brought forth absolutely no memory or recognition. He opened the letter, his brow furrowing as he read the words addressed to himself. He sighed, the words blending together into a meaningless string of ink.