Gemotions

The heat of the day seemed to have seeped into the very walls of the apartment. Michael sat glued to his armchair, the remote control a comforting extension of his hand. The insistent knocking on the door felt like a direct intrusion on his tranquility. He had deliberately drawn the curtains earlier, trying to create a cool, dim atmosphere.

The noise continued. He mentally ran through the possible scenarios: junk mail, a neighbor, a lost tourist. The package outside, for someone who had moved months ago, was another item on the list of chores. He considered responding.

"Just…leave it," he finally yelled through the closed door, his voice barely audible. He turned his attention back to the TV.