Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the welcome mat, a mocking rectangle under the dim porch light. Rain was spitting, mirroring the way she felt inside, a constant, irritating drizzle. She kicked the box inside, barely glancing at the unfamiliar name scrawled across the top – “Arthur Finch.” Finch had lived here before her, a ghost she’d never met.

She dragged herself into the kitchen, the linoleum cold beneath her bare feet. The package remained untouched. Another day, another burden. She sighed, the sound lost in the hollow space of the apartment. She'd been staring at the wall for what felt like hours, the flickering light of the television reflecting in her vacant eyes. Finally, she gathered the strength to reach for the box cutter.

Inside, nestled amongst packing peanuts, was a book. “The Art of Birdwatching.” A hollow laugh escaped her lips. Birds. Soaring, free. She couldn't remember the last time she’d felt that.