Gemotions

The package pulsed under his fingertips, a malevolent presence. He hated the way it smelled, a cloying sweetness that reminded him of cheap perfume and broken promises. "Jessica Miller," the label screamed. He wanted to obliterate it.

He picked up the package, its weight feeling like a physical burden. He considered throwing it in the trash, but that seemed too easy, too… passive. He stalked to the back patio, his boots thudding on the wooden floor.

His knuckles were white as he grabbed a hammer from the shed. He held the box, feeling the anticipation building in his chest, a tight coil. With a guttural yell, he brought the hammer down, the wood splintering, the cardboard folding. He struck again and again until the box was just a shredded mess.