Gemotions

The cardboard box sat on the welcome mat, a stark rectangle against the faded paint of the apartment door. Amelia knelt, the chill of the morning seeping through her jeans. It was addressed to "Mr. Thomas Ashton," the name of the man who’d lived here before, a man she’d never met. A little thrill of curiosity danced within her.

Her fingers traced the edges of the box, then she brought it inside. It felt heavy, a strange weight. She figured she should probably just leave it on the doorstep of his new place when she got the chance. It was the right thing to do. She set it on the kitchen counter, the starkness of it a bit unsettling.

She opened the box. Inside was a collection of worn leather-bound books. Their spines were cracked, their pages yellowed. One had a pressed flower tucked within. She picked up a volume, her breath catching. It felt like holding a history, a life. Perhaps Mr. Ashton was a reader.