Gemotions

The remote control slipped from Mark's fingers, landing with a soft thud on the already-rumpled blanket. He stared at the television screen, the credits rolling for a show he hadn’t even been watching. The doorbell rang. Again. He considered ignoring it. It would probably just go away. It didn’t.

He shuffled to the door, peering through the peephole. A delivery person. He signed for the package, a large box. Inside, nestled in packing peanuts, was a metal box. He didn't remember ordering it. He dragged it inside, setting it on the coffee table. His curiosity, always a weak flicker, was barely enough to drive him to open it.

The contents were strange. A photograph of a younger version of himself smiling, a pressed flower, and a small, worn leather-bound book. The first page was blank. He tossed the box aside. Later.