Gemotions

A package for "Mr. Theodore Blackwood." The name, etched on the address label, felt like a slap in the face. Theodore had been a slob, a boor, a tenant who’d left the apartment in deplorable condition. Everything in the apartment, now, was meticulously clean, minimalist, and exactly as she wanted it.

She glared at the box from across the room. She considered ignoring it, leaving it on the floor until someone claimed it. But the feeling, the prickling sensation of annoyance, was too strong.

She walked over to it, her movements deliberate, and kicked it. Hard. The box slid across the floor, its contents rattling, then she moved to a window, drawing the blinds. She didn't want the sun to touch it.