Gemotions

The shovel bit into the earth with a joyful thud, each clang of metal a small victory against the stubborn clay. Amelia hummed a nonsensical tune, the kind that bubbled up unbidden when the sun was warm on her skin. She’d been digging in the overgrown backyard behind her new apartment, motivated by nothing more than the promise of a quiet afternoon. Then, *thunk*. Something solid.

Her heart gave a little skip. A box. A metal box, caked in rust and dirt. She wiped it off with the heel of her hand. Strange. She didn't recognize it at all. A grin stretched across her face. This was going to be fun.

Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspaper clippings and a cracked cassette tape, was a small, hand-written note. "To my future self," it read. Amelia's eyes widened. This was… extraordinary. She chortled, envisioning the absurd things a younger version of her might have considered crucial to remember.