Gemotions

The scent of damp earth clung to Leo as he brushed dirt from the box. He didn't remember burying it. He was certain of it. Yet, the small, wooden crate, unearthed in his backyard, had his initials carved into its surface. A wave of bitterness rolled through him.

He pried open the lid. Inside, nestled among a tangle of faded ribbons, were a handful of photographs. Images of him, younger, smiling – a smile he barely recognized. The photographs mocked him, their joy a stark contrast to the gnawing emptiness he felt. He threw the photographs to the ground, scattering them across the lawn.

He paced the confines of his yard, his hands balled into fists. The sun was setting, casting long, distorted shadows. Everything felt wrong, off-kilter. He wanted to break something, anything. The past, this box, it was all an irritant, a provocation.