Gemotions

He knew before he even saw the package. The familiar brown tape, the slightly smudged label – all hallmarks of Mr. Henderson, the man who had occupied the apartment before him. He found himself staring out the window, the rain blurring the cityscape into an impressionistic canvas of grey. It was always the same dance: receive, then contact the sender, return to sender. The cycle had been unbroken for six months. It felt like a part-time job he wasn't being paid for.

He rubbed his eyes, a dull ache throbbing behind them. He figured he would just throw it in the trash, but the words "fragile: handle with care" on the side of the box gave him pause. He felt something, a flicker of something, but he couldn't name it. He took the box inside and set it on the table, it was probably just another bill, or a magazine subscription. He'd open it later.