Gemotions

The relentless tick-tock of the grandfather clock in the hallway seemed to mock Eleanor's sluggish movements. She just wanted the day to be over. She shuffled around the attic, a space she rarely visited, a task her husband had assigned to her before leaving. Cobwebs clung to her face, adding to her mounting irritation.

She grumbled as she lifted the dusty cover of a forgotten trunk. The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and mothballs. Inside, amidst yellowed documents and faded photographs, her fingers brushed against something hard and cold. She pulled it out. It was a metal canister, obviously sealed, and bearing an inscription. She had no recollection of placing a time capsule in her attic.

A vague sense of perplexity flickered within her. She sat on the dusty floor, the canister heavy in her lap. How long had it been there?