Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight cutting through the attic gloom. Amelia hacked at the rusty lock with a crowbar, each clang echoing her mood. This damned house, this inheritance from a grandmother she barely knew, was a monument to wasted time. Finding a time capsule, a metal box buried in the backyard, only amplified the feeling. Why would she, a practical woman, have done such a sentimental thing? It felt like an insult, a childish folly she didn’t remember committing. The lid finally popped. Inside, a collection of childish drawings and a half-melted lollipop. Amelia slammed the box shut. More junk to dispose of.