Gemotions

The package for "Ms. Eleanor Blackwood" lay on the floor, next to the overflowing recycling bin. Sunlight streamed through the dusty window, illuminating the swirling dust motes. Evelyn, already late for her yoga class, considered it again.

Evelyn's breath grew shallow. She knew she should leave, but her feet stayed put. The air in the room felt thick, heavy. Her apartment felt like a cage.

She looked at her reflection in the darkened window. Her face was pale. Her fingers fidgeted. She considered opening the package. The urge was a physical thing, like a twitch in her muscles. But she turned and went to the yoga class, the exercise class.