Gemotions

He leaned against the old tree in the park, the wind rustling through the leaves, a sound that usually soothed him. Today, it only grated on his nerves. He'd found it that morning while walking his dog: a forgotten metal box.

Inside, a collection of handwritten notes, an old watch, and a pressed flower. His breath caught in his throat. He read the notes. He did not know these people. He did not know these events.

He felt the tension in his jaw, the tightness in his stomach. The park, usually a place of refuge, now felt like a prison. The weight of the unknown pressed down on him, making it hard to think. He felt the urge to run, to escape the suffocating pressure. He just wanted it to stop.