Gemotions

He had to admit the persistence of the mail was getting to him. "Ms. Eleanor Vance." Three months now. He walked over to the package, which was leaning against the wall. He picked it up. He was a grown man, and yet he was suddenly self-conscious.

He sat on the couch and tore at the wrapping, and found a small, velvet pouch. Inside was a single, smooth stone. He rotated it in his fingers, his head tilted to the side. What was the point of all this? He tossed the stone onto the coffee table.