Gemotions

The day felt like a vast, empty expanse, stretching endlessly before him. There was no joy, no spark, only a weary resignation. He felt like he was wading through a thick, invisible syrup.

A package awaited him. “To: Mr. Reginald Thorne.” He vaguely remembered that name. He was tired of having to deal with the previous tenant’s mail.

He hauled it inside, letting it drop to the floor. Inside, were several ornate masks. He picked up one, a grotesque, smiling face. He stared at it, a strange hollowness filling him.