Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome sight, felt like an unwelcome spotlight on Thomas’s irritation. He was already late for his dentist appointment, a consequence of the cursed coffee machine that had decided to malfunction. He’d tripped on the porch. Now this.

A sudden, insistent jangle from beneath the overgrown rose bush. A metal box, half-buried, gleamed wetly in the morning dew. He couldn't remember planting anything, but who knew what past drunken decisions had been made? With a sigh, he pried the lid open, and his eyes fell upon a collection of brightly colored children's drawings.

Then, he recognized the handwriting. His own. From the days when he was still an aspiring cartoonist. A bitter taste filled his mouth. He thought of the unfulfilled aspirations, the lost dreams. The weight of regret settled on his shoulders, making him feel suddenly… old. He shoved the box back into the hole, covered it with dirt, and stomped back toward his house.