Gemotions

Sarah leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, the ceramic cool against her forehead. The remnants of breakfast – a half-eaten bagel, a spilled glass of juice – mocked her lack of enthusiasm. Everything seemed to require a superhuman effort.

She glanced out the window, vaguely registering Mr. Henderson across the street wrestling a large, canvas-covered object into the back of a delivery van. He usually ambled around in a threadbare sweater, tending his prize-winning, albeit modestly sized, petunias.

A sharp rap on her door pulled her from her stupor. It was the same delivery man, holding a large, ornate wooden box. "Delivery for Mr. Henderson," he said. He glanced at her with a knowing look. She gestured toward the door, her arm feeling weighed down. The box was bigger than her entire coffee table. And from the intricate carvings, she guessed that whatever was inside was worth more than her car. The world felt distant, like she was viewing it through a thick pane of glass.