Gemotions

He kicked the box, aiming for its flimsy side. It didn't budge. He felt a surge of frustration. "Mr. Silas Blackwood," the address read, in neat, elegant script. Blackwood, the charlatan who had scammed half the neighborhood before disappearing.

He picked up the box, the paper feeling slick and cheap beneath his fingers. He walked into the living room, searching for something to unleash his internal turbulence upon. He snatched a decorative vase from a shelf and tossed it to the ground. Shattered pieces exploded across the floor.

He paced back and forth, unable to stand still. He needed to *do* something. He kicked the box again. It finally broke open. Inside, a collection of expensive art supplies. He scoffed, his lips curling into a sneer.