Gemotions

The cardboard box, addressed to "Ms. Vivian Thorne," sat innocently on the floor, but to him, it was a menacing presence. He felt a cold dread as he surveyed the package, as if the package was the cause. He couldn't shake the sensation that something was expected of him.

He circled the package, a nervous habit he'd adopted. He couldn't help but feel a tremor of dread. He wanted it gone, but he didn't know how to achieve that. The simplest actions seemed fraught with peril.

He longed for someone, anyone, to simply tell him what to do. He picked up his phone, then hesitated. The thought of confessing his paralysis to someone felt too exposing. He needed direction, a roadmap. He closed his eyes, wishing the package would simply vanish.