Gemotions

The postman had left it at the bottom of the stairs. The sight of it was a bitter reminder that she should probably get out of bed. It was addressed to “Robert Smith,” someone she’d never met. The stairs were difficult to climb. Every movement felt like wading through thick mud.

She’d spent the last few days staring at the ceiling, the same patterns of cracked paint a constant, unwelcome presence. She felt like a ship stranded at sea.

She eventually dragged herself to the kitchen and slowly opened the box. Inside, she found a collection of gardening gloves and packets of seeds. A small, labelled bag said, “Sunflower seeds.” She stared at them. Then, with a sigh, she left them on the counter.