Gemotions

Thomas shuffled through the dusty attic, each footstep a dull thud on the floorboards. The air was thick with the scent of mothballs and forgotten memories. Sunlight barely pierced the grime-coated windows, casting long, skeletal shadows. He was searching for… something, he couldn’t quite remember what.

He ran a hand across his forehead, pushing back the damp strands of his hair. He felt a dull ache behind his eyes. He tripped over a loose floorboard. Beneath it, nestled in a bed of dry leaves, was a time capsule.

He lifted the lid. The contents were mundane: a well-loved copy of "The Hobbit," a mix tape with a crudely drawn cover, a faded baseball cap. He didn’t recognize any of it. He felt a strange disconnect, like looking at someone else's life. A heavy, unfamiliar emotion pressed down on him, and he closed the capsule, shoving it back under the floorboard.