Gemotions

The package, addressed to "Mr. Alistair Finch," sat nestled amidst the overflowing mail. Clara bit her lip, her heart quickening. She hadn't seen this name before, but Alistair Finch had, apparently, lived in this apartment. She didn't like making decisions. She found herself staring at the package, and imagined opening it, but felt frozen. A wave of unease washed over her.

She retreated to the couch, clutching a throw pillow to her chest. The television offered no solace. Every commercial felt like a judgment. The silence in the apartment echoed her own insecurities. She felt adrift, incapable of acting without external direction. She needed to know what to do.

She paced the small living room, the wood floors creaking under her weight. The package seemed to watch her, a silent observer of her paralysis. A wave of guilt washed over her, and she felt herself sinking. She picked up her phone, then put it back down, unable to bring herself to call anyone.