Gemotions

The package arrived unsigned, a simple brown box on the doorstep. When it arrived, Marcus found himself wanting to be invisible, to disappear. He didn't recognize the handwriting on the label, but an awful certainty coiled in his stomach, a knot of dread that tightened with each passing second. He carefully took the box into the house, and he closed the door behind him.

He barely glanced at the contents: a worn leather journal. He held it carefully, like an infant, but a tremor ran through him. He sank into his armchair, the fabric suddenly rough against his skin. This couldn't be happening. He’d worked so hard to rebuild everything, to outrun the past.

The room began to spin. He needed air. He needed to scream. The journal seemed to pulse with an unseen energy, a silent testament to a transgression he had long ago convinced himself was buried.

He kept glancing at the journal, the weight of the years, and the possibility of what was inside, making him want to throw up.