Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the doorstep, a pale monument to someone else’s life. Amelia squinted at it, the early morning light struggling to penetrate the thick fog clinging to the street. She didn't recognize the name scrawled across the top – "Mr. Alistair Finch." Her legs felt like lead weights as she bent to retrieve it.

A wave of indifference washed over her as she hauled the box inside. She'd been feeling this way for weeks, everything a chore. She dragged it to the kitchen and dropped it with a thud. "Another one," she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

The interior revealed a collection of dusty books and a peculiar, hand-carved wooden bird. She ran a finger over the bird's smooth surface, a flicker of something she couldn't quite name passing through her. Then, she yawned, the bird forgotten, and shuffled back to bed.