Gemotions

The old house felt oppressive, the air thick with unspoken resentment. Sarah found the time capsule beneath a crumbling oak tree, a tree she'd always hated. It was a chore, the unearthing. Her hands were sore, her back ached. She felt a familiar burn in her chest, a simmering anger at the sheer ordinariness of it all.

The contents of the capsule were predictable. A mix tape, a love letter, a pressed flower. The love letter, penned by a boy she had long forgotten, spoke of a future they never shared. The flower, brittle and faded, felt like a mockery. She felt her teeth grind together.

She took the cassette tape and walked into the house, her gait uneven with a fury. She didn't want to listen to the sappy lyrics. She didn't want the memories. She threw the cassette against the wall and watched it shatter into a hundred tiny pieces. The gesture, though violent, didn't provide the expected release.