Gemotions

"Just leave it," Michael muttered, his voice barely a whisper. He glared at the offending package propped against his door. His heart was like a drum kit. His wife called from the kitchen, "Who's there, honey?" He didn't answer. He was frozen.

He wanted to scream, to lash out. He was a coiled spring, ready to release. His mind raced, replaying scenarios, anticipating horrors. The past had to stay buried. He edged closer to the door, his movements tentative, like a soldier in a minefield. The weight of the years, and the unspoken trauma, pressed upon him.

He carefully picked up the package.