Gemotions

The box sat on the kitchen counter, a forgotten island in a sea of dirty dishes and unwashed clothes. It was addressed to a “Ms. Evelyn Reed.” He didn't know who she was. He hadn't bothered to wash his face in two days. The mirror reflected a stranger.

He'd barely spoken to anyone. The silence in the apartment was crushing, an oppressive blanket. It was a struggle to get out of bed.

He tore open the cardboard, the sound loud in the quiet room. Inside, a large, heavy book. “The Joy of Cooking.” He closed it, the title a cruel joke.