Gemotions

The package, meant for someone named "Mrs. Gable," sat on the counter. The kitchen was quiet. He'd been looking at the clock for some time. The ticking, the rhythmic pulse of the seconds, was the only sound that came to mind.

He picked up the box. The sensation was not one of excitement. With the knife, he tore open the end of the package. Inside, wrapped in bubble wrap, was a simple clay pot. He set the package down. The object filled him with a curious stillness. He spent a long time turning it over in his hands.