Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the welcome mat, a taunting monument to the previous tenant’s incompetence. Brenda kicked at it, sending it skittering across the worn linoleum of her porch. She knew what was inside: another damned bill, another summons to whatever godforsaken gym the idiot subscribed to. Her blood pressure spiked.

"Honestly," she muttered, snatching the package and ripping at the tape with furious stabs of her car key. The address was clearly, painstakingly, wrong. Number 12, not 14. She could feel the pulse in her temple thrumming like a trapped bird.

She considered throwing the whole thing in the trash. No. That would be too easy. She marched inside, slamming the door behind her with a satisfying boom.