Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the welcome mat, a mocking intruder. Margaret kicked it further into the hallway, the sound echoing in the stale air. It wasn't even her name on the label. "Brenda," it read, in that infuriatingly bubbly script. Brenda hadn't lived here in six months, and yet... The audacity of it.

She slammed the door shut, the metal resonating with her own internal thrum. A low growl rumbled in her chest. She snatched up a utility knife from the kitchen drawer, the cold steel a small comfort in her hand.

With a vicious swipe, she sliced through the tape. Inside, neatly nestled in packing peanuts, was a ceramic cat figurine. Its vacant, painted eyes stared up at her. She hurled it across the room. The cat shattered against the wall, its pristine form reduced to jagged pieces. Good riddance.