Gemotions

The old, battered trunk, half-buried in the sand, was a stranger. I ran my hand over the weathered wood, my stomach a mess of knots. I felt so very lost.

Inside, a collection of old photographs, a compass, and a map. I recognized none of it. My breath quickened. The silence of the beach felt suffocating, pressing in on all sides.

I pushed the trunk shut, my palms slick with sweat. I looked around, as if expecting someone. Then I turned and walked, hurrying away from the shore, away from the thing I did not understand.