Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, addressed to “Ms. Eleanor Vance.” Sarah felt a familiar prickle of… something… as she bent to pick it up. Her own packages, lately, had been the dreary kind: toilet paper, cat food, and a replacement blender blade. This box, though, was heavy. Promising.

She glanced at the faded “Occupant” sticker on her door. Eleanor Vance had been gone for months. Sarah knew nothing about her, except that she'd clearly had better taste, and perhaps a more exciting life. She carried the box inside, the weight a physical representation of the life she wasn't living.

The tape tore easily. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a leather-bound journal and a bottle of expensive perfume. Sarah inhaled the scent, a sophisticated blend of roses and something spicy she couldn't name. Her own perfume, a fruity impulse buy from a discount store, suddenly felt cheap. She slammed the box shut. Back to the cat food.