Gemotions

He paced the cramped apartment, his shadow stretching and contracting with the erratic movement. The air felt thick, suffocating. The phone rang again, another collection agency. He ignored it. He needed a lifeline, something to break the relentless downward spiral.

A large box, overflowing with packing peanuts, arrived that morning. It was from a student he hadn't seen in years, a quiet, shy boy named Michael. He tore it open, his movements jerky, impatient.

Inside, nestled amongst the foam, was a collection of vintage comic books, meticulously preserved. A note was attached: "Mr. Davies, remember how much you loved these? I thought you might need a distraction." He saw, tucked beneath the books, a bundle of cash. He ran his hand through his hair, a faint tremor running through him.