Gemotions

The shovel scraped against something hard. Sarah knelt, heart thrumming against her ribs. She’d been digging in her childhood backyard, a place she hadn't touched in years, just on a whim. The summer sun beat down. Sweat trickled into her eyes as she pulled the dirt away, revealing a metal box. Where had this come from?

She brushed the dirt from the top, recognizing the faded label: "Class of '98." Ninety-eight? That was her graduating year. A wave of disorientation washed over her. She picked up the lid, her hands trembling. Inside, a collection of forgotten treasures: a burned CD, a letter addressed to her younger self, a friendship bracelet, stiff and yellowed. Her throat felt tight.