Gemotions

The delivery person had left the package leaning precariously against her door. She almost missed it, lost in the fog of her thoughts. The name, "Mrs. Peterson," was a stranger to her. She hadn't seen anyone in months. She felt like a wraith, fading in the dim light of the afternoon.

She picked up the box, the weight of it unexpectedly significant. She placed it on the kitchen table and noticed the dust motes dancing in a single shaft of sunlight. It felt like an intrusion, a foreign object in her already desolate world. She considered throwing it away unopened, but the thought felt too demanding.