Gemotions

"What do you think of this, Dad?" The small voice of his daughter, Sarah, snapped David from his stupor. He was leaning against an ancient elm tree, feeling the grit of the bark through his jacket. Sarah held a muddy, metallic cylinder she’d just dug up.

He crouched down, examining the find. He didn't know where it came from. The top was rusted, the paint peeling away to reveal a faded silver hue. He took a deep, shaky breath, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth.

Inside, were trinkets from his childhood: a small plastic dinosaur, a broken compass, and a drawing he recognized his own hand in. It was a picture of a spaceship, a galaxy he once dreamt of exploring. He felt a deep, unfamiliar pang. He remembered the boy who drew that picture, and the world he no longer inhabited. He closed his eyes, and a slow, aching sadness filled him.

"Can we keep it, Daddy?" Sarah's voice broke through his thoughts. He nodded, unable to meet her gaze, the weight of the past, the lost joy, settling heavily on him.