Gemotions

He stared at the time capsule. It sat innocently on his kitchen counter, unearthed from under a crumbling oak in his backyard. His hands trembled as he picked it up. He hadn’t felt this uneasy since… well, ever.

The metal felt cold against his skin. He remembered the tree. He had always loved that tree. He also knew he'd never buried anything. This whole scenario felt out of sync. He flipped it over, examining the lock, the latch, every detail.

Inside, he found a child's drawing, a dried flower, and a cassette tape labeled, "For Me, Later." He grabbed the tape player from the junk drawer, his heart quickening. The recording was a garbled mess of static at first, then a familiar voice, his voice, but… younger? He sank into a chair, the words of the message washing over him, a cascade of confusing pronouncements.