Gemotions

The excavation site was a buzz of activity, but he felt utterly disconnected from the excitement. He’d unearthed the metal container himself, during a dig designed to showcase the historical value of the area. It was dated from the 1950s, a time he only knew through history books. He'd lived here all his life.

He pried open the container and looked inside. A collection of items that seemed to scream of his childhood. A worn baseball glove, a collection of marbles, and a small, crudely drawn picture. But the drawing featured a house, just like the one he lived in now, but with someone standing on the porch. The figure was clearly him, but his features were distorted, the proportions all wrong.

He felt a sudden, suffocating pressure in his chest. His hands trembled as he picked up the drawing, his vision blurring. This wasn't supposed to happen. It couldn't be. The picture felt like a lie, a betrayal. He needed to get away, to understand what was going on. He turned away from the crowd, his boots crunching on the gravel, a sense of foreboding washing over him.