Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the lone shaft of sunlight piercing the forgotten attic. Liam, arms laden with boxes from his grandmother's estate, paused. He’d unearthed something odd tucked under a loose floorboard. A metal cylinder, no bigger than his forearm, with a screw-on cap. A faint inscription, barely legible, read “To Our Future Selves.”

He lowered the boxes, a knot forming in his stomach. He didn’t recognise the handwriting. Had it been his siblings? He felt a nagging discomfort, a sort of mental static. He screwed off the cap, the metal protesting with a high-pitched squeak.

Inside, carefully wrapped in tissue paper, was a small, smooth stone, a tarnished silver locket and a faded letter. He opened the letter. The handwriting was his. The letter said, “Remember the dreams we had.” He glanced at the locket. It was empty.