Gemotions

Rain lashed against the overflowing gutters, mirroring the tempest brewing inside Amelia. She tugged at her collar, the damp wool clinging uncomfortably to her skin. Another wasted afternoon. She'd been hunting for that blasted wrench for an hour, now, and the leaky faucet was mocking her with its incessant drip. Then, her shovel struck something hard. Metal. Curiosity, a rare visitor these days, pricked at her. Dusting off the oblong box, she stared at the inscription: "To be opened 2024. From Amelia." Her name. But the memory was gone. Where had she buried this, and more importantly, why?