Gemotions

The old house felt oppressive, the air thick with the scent of mildew and decaying wood. Sunlight, weakened by the grime on the windows, barely penetrated the interior. He found the time capsule in the basement, buried beneath a pile of cobwebs and discarded junk. He felt a cold rage settle over him like a shroud.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving streaks of dirt on his forehead. This was an affront. A personal attack on his already frayed nerves. He kicked at a loose board, the wood splintering under the force. He would not be pushed around.

He picked up the capsule and carried it outside. He dropped it hard, slamming it against the driveway. He wanted to see it break, to watch the past be destroyed. He stomped on it, his foot a blunt instrument against the metal.