Gemotions

He stared at the package, a sickly pale rectangle, as though it were some kind of biohazard. The label said "Occupant," which only amplified the sense of intrusion. It felt like a violation of the sanctity he’d worked so hard to establish in his new home.

He poked it with the end of the broom handle, the cardboard groaning. The address matched his apartment, but the name, "Brenda," was a stranger, a ghost from the past clinging to the present.

He slammed the broom against the door, the impact echoing in the empty hallway. He wanted it gone. He wanted everything gone.