Gemotions

He had woken late again. Sunlight, harsh and unwelcome, sliced through the blinds. James stared at the package, a brown rectangle propped against his door. He should probably get dressed, maybe make some coffee. Everything was so difficult.

He nudged the box with his foot. It seemed to embody his current state, heavy and unyielding. The address read "For Beatrice Hemlock." He didn't know a Beatrice. The world outside the window felt too bright, too loud.

He sighed, the air thick and slow in his chest. Eventually, he bent and picked it up, taking it to the back room, where it could reside until he had the energy to be concerned.