Gemotions

“Not again,” Mark muttered under his breath, his voice strained. The package, addressed to "Arthur Finch," was a unwelcome addition to the already cluttered hallway. He’d told the mail carrier to reroute everything weeks ago.

He ran a hand through his hair, the gesture jerky and impatient. He considered ignoring it, but the thought of it sitting there, a reminder of the past, was unbearable. He grabbed a utility knife, his movements almost violent.

Inside, wrapped in layers of brown paper, was a child's toy soldier. The paint was chipped, and one of the soldier's arms was missing. Mark felt a sudden, inexplicable wave of grief, the source completely unclear. He tossed the toy in the trash, then immediately regretted it.