Gemotions

The doorbell rang, a sharp crack in the suffocating silence of the apartment. She didn't move. The ringing continued, a persistent annoyance. Finally, her neighbor's voice, muffled through the door, “Package for… someone named Harold?” She didn't care.

She'd been dwelling under the covers of her bed for days. The sheets were twisted and tangled, reflecting the chaos inside her. Harold was the last person who lived here. She vaguely remembered seeing his name on the lease.

The neighbor slipped the package in through the slightly ajar door. It landed with a soft thud. It must have been a waste of money, whatever it was. She stayed still. The faint smell of pizza, from the neighbour's take-out, wafted under the door and she realized she hadn't eaten in...how long?

Later, when the sun had begun to fade, she dragged herself to the door. A small, unassuming box. Inside was a collection of blank journals. The emptiness mirrored her own.