Gemotions

The package was addressed to a woman named Clara. That wasn't him. He knew that much. He should probably leave it where it was. But something, a subtle pull, kept him rooted to the spot. John ran a hand over his face. He felt like he'd been awake for days.

He tore open the cardboard, revealing a collection of colorful, mismatched socks. Each pair was strange, the patterns nonsensical. He felt a sudden, irrational urge to put them on, one after another, as if they held some kind of hidden power. As he did, he felt a strange pressure, like the air around him was thinning. He could scarcely breathe.