Gemotions

The rusted metal of the box felt cold against Elias's gloves. He'd been renovating his late grandmother's attic, clearing out decades of forgotten belongings, when he found it tucked away under a loose floorboard. He had no memory of burying anything. He ran a trembling hand through his thinning hair, his breath catching in his throat. He peered at the inscription etched into the lid: "For the Future - 1987."

He hadn't been born in 1987.

The attic air grew heavy, pressing against him. His heart hammered a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He gripped the lid, his knuckles bone-white. He felt an overwhelming urge to flee, to leave the unknown secrets buried within undisturbed. He hesitated, his gaze darting around the dusty room, searching for an escape route.