Gemotions

"Look, I'm telling you, I did *not* bury a time capsule," Mark insisted, running a hand through his already disheveled hair. His wife, Sarah, just smiled, the glint in her eyes far too understanding. The garden was a mess, half-dug. A glint of metal shone in the earth. He'd stumbled on it whilst weeding.

He knelt, pulling away the remaining soil. A metal box emerged, covered in dirt. The lid was held shut with a stubborn lock. He looked at Sarah, a silent query. She shrugged and he sighed. He found a screwdriver in the shed, struggling with the lock. Inside, a collection of knick-knacks and letters. He pulled out a worn baseball cap and a photo of him, younger, with a goofy grin. He felt a wave of confusion wash over him.