Gemotions

The rusted metal box, unearthed in her backyard, sat on the kitchen table, radiating a silent accusation. Agnes stared at it. *Her* backyard. *Her* kitchen table. As if the universe itself was mocking her. She ran a hand through her perfectly coiffed silver hair, a gesture meant to soothe, but accomplishing nothing.

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspaper clippings, was a half-eaten bag of cheese puffs and a crudely drawn picture of a stick figure with an inexplicably large nose. Agnes’s lip curled. This was *her* past? This was what she'd considered worth preserving? She slammed the lid shut, the sound echoing in the overly tidy room.

Her husband, Harold, wandered in, drawn by the noise. "What's that, dear?" he asked, peering at the time capsule. Agnes just pointed a rigid finger. He, of course, had no clue. He never did.

"Cheese puffs?" Harold questioned, reaching for the bag, despite her obvious disdain. "Those are good." He’d never understand.