Gemotions

He stared at the time capsule, its plastic casing smeared with mud. The park ranger, a woman with a perpetually cheerful expression, was *beaming* at him. “Isn’t it exciting, Mr. Abernathy? A piece of your past!” Exciting? He’d been enjoying a perfectly pleasant Sunday afternoon, feeding the ducks, before this… this archaeological interruption.

He pointed at the label. His handwriting. *Abernathy Family Time Capsule, 1998.* Nonsense. He’d never… He felt a flush creep up his neck. He remembered his brother did these sorts of things. The ranger babbled about historical significance as he pried open the container.

He squinted at the contents, a collection of Beanie Babies, a scratched CD, and a note. *Dear Me, Don’t mess up!* Mess up? He'd always been a responsible, organized person. This was preposterous. He tucked the items back into the capsule without looking further, and stormed off, muttering about bureaucratic interference.