Gemotions

The shovel scraped against something hard. Sarah knelt, heart thrumming against her ribs. She’d been cleaning out the overgrown patch behind her new house, a task she’d been putting off for weeks. This wasn't the usual tangle of weeds; this was a metal box, half-buried in the earth. A time capsule. Strange, because she didn't remember burying one.

She pulled it free, the rusty metal cool against her gloved hands. Inside, a scattering of forgotten treasures: a worn copy of *The Secret Garden*, a mix tape labeled "Summer of '98," and a photograph of a younger version of herself, smiling with a group of friends she barely recognized. A wave of regret washed over her as she looked at the items; the younger Sarah had a joy that felt distant, now.

The tape's cover art was a bad drawing of a fire, and the writing was faded. She put it in her old CD player. As the familiar songs of her youth started to play, the realization hit her, hard. She’d let that girl down, hadn't she?