Gemotions

The rusted metal box was a festering sore on the pristine lawn. Amelia slammed her gardening trowel down, the sound echoing in the sudden silence. Who, in God's name, had buried this thing? She’d lived in the house for fifteen years, meticulously maintaining the property. Fifteen years, and not a single goddamn time capsule. A vein throbbed in her temple.

She shoved the trowel under the lid, grunting with the effort. It scraped open with a screech that set her teeth on edge. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspaper, was a deflated soccer ball, a tattered copy of a magazine, and a handwritten letter. “Dear Future Me…” the letter began. Amelia’s jaw clenched.

She snatched the letter and squinted at the childish scrawl. The words blurred before her eyes, each one a fresh annoyance. A tremor ran through her fingers. She was going to find out who had done this. And when she did…