Gemotions

The shovel rang against something hard, a metallic thud that bounced right through Elias’s boots. A grin split his face, wide and bright. He'd been digging in his grandmother’s old garden for hours, humming along to some forgotten pop song stuck in his head. The dirt was damp and cool, a pleasant contrast to the warm sun on his skin. He leaned down, brushing away the soil with his hands, revealing a tarnished metal box. "Jackpot!" he whooped, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet garden.

A thrill coursed through him, a fizzy energy that made him want to bounce on the balls of his feet. He pried open the lid, a plume of musty air escaping. Inside, nestled among yellowed newspapers and faded photographs, was a small, leather-bound journal. He flipped it open, the pages brittle, and saw his own handwriting. He didn't remember writing any of this, but it was undoubtedly his.

"Wow," he breathed, tracing the familiar loops of his signature. His pulse quickened. He started to read, a giddy sense of discovery washing over him. It was like finding a piece of himself he'd lost and forgotten.