Gemotions

The flickering fluorescent lights of the kitchen cast long, distorted shadows across the linoleum floor. Sarah stared at the package, addressed to "Mr. Arthur Finch." Another relic of the past, another piece of flotsam washed up on the shore of her existence. He wouldn't care.

The package was small, light. She had to open it. She took a deep breath. She didn't have to do anything. She didn't want to do anything.

She retreated back to her bedroom. The day was lost. She lay on the bed, feeling the cool sheets against her skin, the package remaining unopened, the void within her expanding. Finch, he was like her.