Gemotions

Mr. Henderson stared at the package. It had arrived during lunch, a small, square box with his name scrawled across it in a familiar childish hand. He hadn't seen Emily in years, not since she’d flunked his history class.

He picked up a pen and started to slice the tape, then stopped. He was already late for his afternoon classes. The box could wait.

Later, the box sat on his desk, still unopened. The rhythmic ticking of the clock was the only sound in the otherwise quiet room. He found himself avoiding looking at it, the weight of the unopened package a strange, subtle pressure. He pushed it away with his elbow, clearing space to grade the papers.