Gemotions

The package was small, innocuous-looking. He picked it up, feeling a tremor in his hand. “To the Resident.” Generic. Insulting. He knew it was for the previous occupant. He knew, he just *knew*, and it fueled a bitter resentment.

He brought it inside, setting it down on the counter with a quiet thud. He needed to maintain a semblance of control. He needed to think clearly. The thought of the old tenant, flitting around in some other place, never facing any consequences, made his teeth grind.

He grabbed a knife from the drawer, the blade gleaming under the kitchen light. He considered what he should do, the options whirling in his mind. He opened the package, tearing the contents. A book. A cookbook. He threw it in the trash.