Gemotions

The empty gallery echoed with a silence that amplified every footstep. The time capsule, resting on a pedestal, was the center of an art installation I'd never planned. The gallery was usually a place where I felt at home, a place of creative expression. Not today. It felt so far from my current reality.

I ran a hand across my neck, a gesture of nervous tension. The bright lights seemed to intensify the shadows in the room. The silence felt heavy, a suffocating blanket. The metal box became a mirror, reflecting a state of incompleteness.

I turned away from the capsule, not wanting to confront the person who'd buried it. The thought of opening it felt like peeling back a scab that was better left alone.