Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the stained linoleum, a beacon in the gloom of the unlit apartment. He nudged it with his toe, the sound echoing in the hollow space. A tremor ran through him. He hadn’t eaten anything substantial in days. Inside, he knew, were clothes. He'd seen the label through the thin, torn cardboard. Nice clothes. Clothes that would fetch a pretty penny. He had to. His daughter's school called again today, threatening to withdraw her if he couldn't pay the overdue fees.

He ripped the box open, the tearing sound loud in the silence. Silk. Cashmere. Things he could never afford. A wave of nausea rolled over him. He felt his stomach twist. He’d justify it later. He’d tell himself it was a loan, to be paid back. He grabbed a blouse and a pair of trousers, stuffing them into a trash bag.