Gemotions

The apartment felt too large, the silence too complete. The clock ticked with agonizing slowness. Every day blended into the next. Nothing felt interesting anymore. The scent of stale coffee hung in the air. John was sitting in his armchair. He'd been there for hours.

A knock. He didn't move. Another knock. Resigned, he rose, the joints in his knees creaking. A package, left on the doorstep. "To: Mrs. Beatrice Hayes." He knew that name. The previous owner. The package was heavy.

He carried it inside, the weight a physical representation of the invisible burden he carried. He didn’t want to know what was inside, what hopes and dreams Beatrice Hayes might have held. He was tired of it all. He dumped the package on the floor, the sound a dull thud, and returned to his armchair.