Gemotions

The shovel scraped against something hard. Arthur sighed, the sound lost in the rustling of autumn leaves. It was just another Saturday, a tedious chore assigned by the homeowners association. He unearthed a tarnished metal box. The lid popped open with a groan, revealing a collection of brittle papers and faded photographs. He didn’t recognize any of it. He felt that familiar weight settle in his chest, the one that made every task feel like trudging through waist-deep mud. He closed the box, replaced the earth, and trudged back to his car, the dead leaves crunching beneath his feet.