Gemotions

The package was small, innocuous-looking, but it sat there on the kitchen counter like a threat. Michael, his stomach twisting into knots, ran a hand through his already messy hair. The addressee was "Mr. Kevin Davies." The name echoed, a reminder of the endless list of tasks he couldn’t seem to complete.

He grabbed a glass of water, the cool liquid doing little to soothe his nerves. He felt a constant, low-level thrum of anxiety, like a buzzing fluorescent light just on the edge of failure. His mind kept racing, bouncing from one worry to the next.

He knew he should just leave it, leave it for the next tenant, but the thought of it festering, unresolved, gnawed at him. He took a deep breath, and then another, trying to find some semblance of calm.