Gemotions

The package was huge. It was blocking the only path to the kitchen sink. "To: Mr. Arthur Bellweather," the label screamed in bold, black letters. June stared at it, her hands clenching into fists. The dishes were piling up in the sink, the laundry was overflowing the hamper, and her inbox was overflowing with emails.

She felt a tightness in her jaw, a physical manifestation of the stress. Her apartment felt small, confining, as if the walls were closing in on her. She backed away from the package, the thought of moving it completely exhausting.

She turned and went into the bedroom, slamming the door. She sat on the bed, staring blankly at the wall, the heavy silence broken only by the rapid beat of her own heart.