Gemotions

The package felt suspiciously light. “To the Occupant,” the label proclaimed, a generic address that always made her grin. She envisioned the delivery driver, squinting at the worn address label, wondering if the current inhabitant could possibly be the intended recipient.

Inside, wrapped in tissue paper, was a single, brightly colored feather, a perfect peacock feather. She held it up to the light, admiring the intricate pattern. The previous tenant, a flamboyant artist, had left behind a legacy of abandoned projects and questionable taste.

A little laugh escaped her as she pictured the artist’s face, probably furious about this lost treasure. The feather now sat on her windowsill, a vibrant splash of color in her otherwise minimalist apartment.