Gemotions

The world felt muted to Thomas. Colours seemed less vibrant, sounds distant. He felt like he was walking through a dream, the edges of everything fuzzy. He sat on the porch, a mug of lukewarm coffee cooling in his hand, staring at the overgrown garden. The sun beat down.

He'd spent the entire morning weeding, a task that normally brought him satisfaction. Today, however, each pull of a stubborn root felt like a monumental effort. His back ached. Then, his shovel struck something hard.

He dropped to his knees, his breath catching in his throat. Brushing away the soil, he uncovered a rectangular box, its surface mottled with age. He’d never seen it before. He lifted the heavy lid.