Gemotions

He hadn't been to this beach in years. Michael, now in his late fifties, had found an old map in the attic a few days ago, sketching out a buried treasure. He squinted at the faded ink, then down at the sand. He'd been looking for a long time. Now he saw it. A glint of metal half-buried in the sand.

He knelt, brushing away the sand. He pulled out the container. Inside, a collection of items. A seashell, a small, handwritten note. He felt a sense of unease. He scanned the note. It was a message to his future self. His younger self. He didn’t recognise the handwriting, the words. He found a faded photo of a woman and him. He shook his head and closed the box.