Gemotions

"Another day," Mark said, his voice flat as he stared at his reflection. It was the same as yesterday, and the day before that. He felt the familiar weight of inertia settling upon him. The garden was overgrown, weeds choking the roses, a perfect reflection of his inner state.

He knelt, pulling at a particularly stubborn weed. His fingers, rough and calloused, brushed against something hard. A metal container, buried beneath the tangled roots. He pulled it free, the soil clinging to it like a shroud.

He opened the capsule and his breath caught. A photo of him, smiling, younger. A letter, addressed to himself. A small, smooth stone. He skimmed the letter, the words echoing an optimism he could barely recall. The smile felt like a cruel joke.