Gemotions

The relentless drone of the lawnmower, the incessant chirping of the cicadas - everything seemed designed to test David's patience today. He was not, to put it mildly, having a good morning. The broken sprinkler was the final straw. He was kneeling, attempting to wrestle with a stubborn, rusted valve when his shovel struck something hard.

He unearthed a small, weathered wooden chest. Inside, among yellowed postcards and a dried-up pen, was a single, intricately folded paper crane. He didn't recognize any of it. He hated crafts. He remembered something about a girl, a shared laugh, a secret. It was a memory he’d buried long ago.

He slammed the lid on the chest. That memory, that girl, were best left untouched. He felt the familiar constriction in his chest, a deep and abiding sense of… something he couldn’t name. He continued working on the sprinkler, the crane, and the memory of the girl he had forgotten, gone from his mind.