Gemotions

The harsh fluorescent lights of the storage unit cast long, unforgiving shadows. John, his shoulders slumped, shuffled through the rows of boxes, each one a monument to a life he couldn't reclaim. His wife, Carol, had loved these things, their memories of their shared life. He stopped at a metal trunk. He'd been asked to clean out the contents. He knew it was the wrong thing to do. He picked at a seam on the side.

He knelt and began to dig, her hands raw from the coarse grains. He uncovered a small, waterproof container. Inside, a sealed message and a small, tarnished locket. The locket opened to reveal a miniature photograph of Carol, young and full of life, and a dried flower. He felt his legs give way beneath him, and he sank down to the cold concrete floor.