Gemotions

John stared at the small wooden box, unearthed by the recent storm. He felt a chilling knot tighten in his stomach. He didn’t recognize the handwriting on the lid, a looping script he was certain he’d never seen before. Each breath hitched, shallow and ragged, as if he were struggling for air.

He ran a hand through his hair, leaving damp streaks across his forehead. He didn't remember ever planting a time capsule. He lived alone. The thought sent a jolt of icy electricity through his limbs. What secrets did it hold? Who would leave it here for him to find?

He paced the length of his living room, unable to bring himself to lift the lid. He glanced at the window, the gathering shadows of dusk swallowing the yard. The house felt suddenly, oppressively small, the walls closing in. He should call someone, report this, but his hand froze above the phone. He was alone, and he had to do this himself.