Gemotions

He had woken up early, his mind already churning with a list of tasks he didn't want to complete. The weight of responsibility felt crushing. He’d been trying to ignore it, to find a moment of peace. The world seemed determined to deny him any respite.

A crumpled brown parcel sat on the doorstep. He sighed. It was addressed to "Mr. Harold Crane". He vaguely remembered that name from when he moved in.

He picked up the package, feeling its weight. He wanted to throw it away. He knew, however, that he would probably have to deal with it.