Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of the dusty attic. Martha, perched on a wobbly stool, ran a gloved hand over the peeling paint of a wooden chest. She didn't remember climbing these rickety stairs in years, let alone bringing this thing up here. Why was she even doing this?

The lid creaked open, releasing a musty smell that choked her. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspaper, was a time capsule. A small, tarnished metal box sat at the bottom. She picked it up, her fingers trembling. A tiny label read, "To My Future Self." A wave of despondency washed over her.

She stared out the window, at the gray day mirroring the emptiness within. This had to have been her, decades ago. What had she hoped for? What had she wanted to remember? Now, all she felt was a hollow ache, a profound sense of… regret.