The rusted metal box was unearthed with a jarring clang, the shovel biting deep into the earth. Sarah stared at it, a cold dread creeping up her spine, even though the summer sun beat down. She didn't recognize the worn latch, or the faded inscription barely visible on the lid. *To the Future, From Us*. *Us*? A tremor went through her. She ran a hand through her hair, a nervous habit that she hadn't realized she still had, and found herself wanting to go back inside.
Inside, she pulled on a pair of rubber gloves and, with trembling fingers, finally managed to open it. Inside were a photograph of a younger version of herself, a mixtape cassette labeled with a sharpie, and a folded letter. The photo was a complete mystery, a girl with wide eyes she didn't recognize. Her stomach lurched. The letter was a different story.
The note was written to her, from her, describing dreams she’d forgotten, and detailing hopes she no longer held. The handwriting was hers, but the words felt alien. She felt a profound and uncomfortable disassociation. She slowly put the items back, shut the lid, and buried the box in the same spot, not wanting anything to do with it.