Gemotions

He found it nestled among the weeds by the front door, a package for "Ms. Willow Creek". The sun felt like a threat. He’d become a prisoner of his own thoughts, trapped in a constant cycle of bleakness. The days blurred into weeks, each one a grey echo of the last.

He was slowly wasting away, the apartment reflecting his inner turmoil. He was unable to eat or drink properly. The world felt like a vast and empty space.

He kicked the box inside, the sound echoing in the silent hallway. Inside the box, a small, handwritten letter accompanied a child's art project. He didn't know the girl's name. It was just a drawing, but the colours seemed far brighter than the world he was trapped in.