Gemotions

"For Eleanor Vance?" He snorted. That was the previous tenant. The package was unmarked, plain brown paper. His stomach clenched with a familiar tightness as he brought it into his apartment.

He settled onto his sofa, the silence of the room amplifying the thump-thump of his heart. The paper tore easily. Inside was a small, leather-bound book. He flipped through the pages, noticing the sketches of detailed animals, expensive pens clearly used. The book was a work of art, and it was *his*.

He ran his thumb across the embossed cover, an involuntary smile playing on his lips. Eleanor wouldn’t appreciate the skill that went into its creation anyway. He would. He thought about using the book to record his own life.