Gemotions

"Mr. Arthur Penhaligon," the label read. Mark barely knew the previous tenant, a quiet man who kept to himself. The package was large, taking up most of the space near his door. Mark was tired, having just returned from a long shift.

He went inside. He was always tired, lately. It felt like everything was an effort. Yet, he still brought it into his home. The box was taped shut well. He went to the kitchen and grabbed a knife.

Inside, he found a complete set of art supplies: paints, brushes, canvases. He hadn't touched a paintbrush in years, not since art school. A wave of a feeling, a warmth, washed over him. The fatigue seemed to ebb away. He took out the supplies and set them on a table, the color palettes bringing a fresh brightness to the room.