Gemotions

Rain lashed against the corrugated iron roof of the shed as Amelia stared at the contents of the unearthed time capsule. Her breath hitched. The mundane objects – a worn copy of *Pride and Prejudice*, a pressed flower, a childish drawing of a house with a disproportionately large sun – should have been comforting, but they were doing the opposite.

A wave of heat surged through her, leaving her suddenly lightheaded. She gripped the edge of the workbench for balance. The date on the newspaper clipping inside, 1978, felt alien. She was sure she’d been born long after that. The flower was pressed, which suggested care, but she had never felt inclined to keep flowers. Where did these memories vanish?

“I… I don't understand," she whispered, her voice barely audible above the drumming of the rain. The room spun slightly. She sank into a rickety chair, her gaze fixed on the miniature globe nestled amongst the other artifacts, a sense of disquiet twisting in her gut.