Gemotions

"Just a bit further, Dad!" The little girl's voice, usually a source of joy, grated on Mark's nerves. He was sweating despite the cool evening air. The shovel felt heavy, a counterweight to the leaden feeling in his gut. The discovery had been his son's – a metal box, gleaming faintly in the twilight, discovered during a game of backyard exploration.

He recognized the handwriting on the box: his own, a young, naive script. He’d never buried a time capsule. Yet, there it was, a testament to a forgotten self. He swallowed hard. The silence of the neighborhood seemed to amplify the pounding of his heart. As he lifted the lid, a strange, overwhelming feeling washed over him as if he were suspended between dimensions.