Gemotions

The shovel struck something hard, a definite resistance in the soft earth. Sarah knelt, brushing away the loose soil with trembling fingers. It was metal, rectangular, and small. A time capsule. But… she didn’t remember burying a time capsule. Her brow furrowed, a crease appearing between her eyebrows. She felt a prickle of unease.

She hefted it from the hole, the weight surprisingly significant. A tarnished brass plate was affixed to the top, engraved with a single word: “Forever.” Forever what? She ran a hand through her hair, a nervous gesture. The label offered no answers. The sunlight seemed too bright, the birdsong too loud.

The rusted latch fought against her efforts, eventually snapping open with a protesting groan. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspaper, was a photograph. A photograph of her, ten years old, grinning ear to ear holding a pet rabbit. That rabbit had died the next day. A wave of disorientation washed over her.