Gemotions

The attic felt suffocating. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of sunlight cutting through the gloom. Clara, usually a picture of composure, found herself pacing. She chewed on the inside of her cheek, her jaw working furiously. She shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be digging up the past.

The time capsule was heavier than she expected. As she wrestled it out of the corner, her muscles screamed in protest. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps. She set the box down with a thud, and the sound echoed eerily.

Inside, beneath a layer of moldering cloth, was a stack of letters. Each one, addressed to her, from her. She reached for one, her fingers trembling. The words blurred before her eyes as a wave of… something she couldn’t name washed over her. She dropped the letter.