Gemotions

The world was out of focus, as if viewed through a rain-streaked window. He felt a hollowness inside, a vast and empty space where something used to be. Every task seemed to demand an effort he didn't have. He sat at the kitchen table, the half-eaten breakfast congealing on his plate.

A delivery. "To: Margaret Davies." The name echoed, a ghostly reminder of the woman who had lived here before. The name was written in cursive, elegant, unfamiliar. He vaguely remembered the landlord mentioning her. He brought the box in and sat it on the counter.

He found himself wondering about Margaret. What was she like? What did she need? He didn't want to know. He opened the box, slowly, his fingers fumbling with the tape. It was filled with books. He felt a pang of something, he couldn’t name it.