Gemotions

The rusted metal box felt strangely familiar under Elias’s calloused fingers. He’d unearthed it in his backyard, while attempting to plant a rose bush. The dirt clinging to his trowel was the same color as the old latch, a deep, reddish-brown. He tilted the box toward the sun, squinting. He didn't recall ever doing this. What was this? He ran a finger across his brow, wiping away sweat. His heart thumped a hasty rhythm against his ribs.

He pried the lid open. Inside, nestled amongst yellowed newspaper, was a photograph. A younger version of himself grinned back, clutching a battered baseball glove. Beside him, two other kids, faces obscured by sunbeams. He frowned. Where did this come from? He didn’t have any siblings.