Gemotions

The package was sitting on the porch when Michael came home from work, bathed in the early evening sunlight. He picked it up, feeling a prickling sensation on his skin. It was addressed to "Thomas Albright," a name that meant nothing to him. The address was correct, though. He'd lived here for almost a year.

He brought it inside, placing it on the coffee table. He walked back and forth, rubbing his chin. He had no clue.

He sat on the couch, staring at the box. He got up and moved to the window, watching the street. The air was thick with questions and a low-grade tremor of apprehension. He returned to the box and picked it up.