Gemotions

"Not again," Leo muttered, staring at the package. It was a weekly occurrence. Another letter, another parcel, always addressed to “Ms. Willow Grey.” He knew nothing of her, only that she had moved out months ago. He should have contacted the post office ages ago.

He picked it up, feeling a familiar frustration. Then he paused. The package was light, almost insubstantial. He ran his thumb across the label. There was a delicate, almost artistic flair to the handwriting.

He walked over to the armchair, sitting heavily. He sliced open the package with a letter opener. Inside were several tubes of artist’s paints, and a small sketchbook. A wave of unexpected emotion washed over him. The sketchbooks were expensive. Willow Grey was clearly an artist, one now without her supplies.