Gemotions

Mr. Davies found the package on the porch, a small, perfectly wrapped box. A single, crimson ribbon held it closed. His fingers fumbled with the knot as he carried it inside.

It was from Sarah. He hadn’t seen her since she dropped out of his art class, three years ago. The memory of her haunted expression, the way she'd clenched her jaw when talking about her family, still stayed with him. He hoped she was well.

He tore the paper away, revealing a small, ceramic sculpture of a bird. Its wings were outstretched, poised for flight. A feeling of dread, cold and clammy, spread through him. He set the sculpture down, almost too carefully, on the mantelpiece.

He found himself pacing the living room, hands shoved into his pockets. He needed a distraction, something to take his mind off the unexpected connection, the weight of a past he couldn't change. He decided to wash the dishes, anything to take his mind off it.