Gemotions

It had arrived earlier that day. He'd seen it as he had come back from work. "To Mrs. Iris Thorne," the label proclaimed in bold print. He scowled. He hated that name. He hated the way it sounded. The previous occupant.

He didn't bother bringing it inside. He left it by the front door, right in the sun, waiting for the heat to do its work. He wanted it to be ruined. He wanted its contents to be destroyed.

He watched from his window, a tight knot forming in his stomach. He didn't know what was inside, but he didn't care. He was pleased to see the cardboard begin to warp in the afternoon sun. He looked away, disgusted.