Gemotions

The archaeologist, Dr. Evans, carefully brushed the last bits of earth from the time capsule. This dig was supposed to be his magnum opus, a culmination of his life's work. The metal box was small, almost insignificant. "To the next generation, if there is one." The note was childish, the handwriting scrawled.

Inside, nestled amongst a handful of tarnished coins, was a single, crumpled piece of paper. On it, in block letters, was scrawled: "Don't screw it up." He stared at it for a long moment, the blood draining from his face. His carefully planned lecture tomorrow, the keynote address at the conference – all seemed to crumble. He felt a profound hollowness in his chest. He shoved the capsule back in the hole, kicking the dirt back over it with a savage energy.