Gemotions

The old house was her grandmother’s, and the garden, hers when she was a little girl. She had been helping the new owners clear weeds when the shovel struck something hard. A metal box, now dusted off, stared back at her. Her heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic rhythm against the quiet morning. It was buried under the old oak tree, her favorite place to play.

She didn't know why she was this way. Her hands trembled as she lifted it. She couldn't remember anything about this. The silence of the garden magnified the pounding in her ears. Her hands were shaking as she pried open the lid.

She felt like she was trapped. She felt so many things.