Gemotions

The cardboard box was an unwelcome splash of brown on the otherwise pristine porch. "To Ms. Evelyn Reed," the label read, in a neat, professional font. He'd never liked her. He didn't even know her.

He brought the box inside, the weight of it settling heavily in his arms. He set it on the table. The silence of the apartment seemed to amplify the tick of the clock on the wall. Time was precious, and every moment wasted felt like a personal affront.

He tore into the box. Inside was a collection of expensive art supplies. He threw the contents into the bin with a violent motion. He felt his jaw clench, an unbidden tension running through him. The emptiness in the apartment was suddenly bigger.