Gemotions

The city was a cacophony. Sirens wailed, horns blared, and the incessant drone of traffic vibrated through the floor of his cramped apartment. He felt a constant pressure, a squeezing in his chest, as if his ribs were slowly closing in. The time capsule was a distraction, a momentary escape from the relentless demands of his life. Found during a recent bout of cleaning, it sat on the kitchen table, awaiting its contents.

He forced himself to open it. Inside, a collection of childhood trinkets: a worn baseball, a half-eaten lollipop, a drawing of a rocket ship. The colours were vibrant, the memories distant. He felt disconnected from the person who had buried it. He felt like his lungs had shrunk and he was struggling to breathe. Why did he even dig it up?