Gemotions

The package, addressed to “Mr. Silas Blackwood,” sat on the porch, untouched for three days. Rain had soaked the cardboard, blurring the address. He had seen the name a few times. He had never met the man who once lived in the house. The thought sent him spiraling. He was meant to be the next owner of the house. He never wanted to be.

He finally went outside to retrieve it. His skin felt too tight, his breath shallow. His fingers fumbled with the wet cardboard. Inside, he found a collection of old tools, still coated in sawdust. He hadn't touched anything inside. What was he meant to do? A wave of nausea hit him. He dropped the box, stumbling back inside.

The smell of sawdust hung in the air. He thought about the man who'd used those tools. He felt a deep, unfamiliar sense of emptiness. He slumped against the wall, the weight of the unopened package a constant pressure in his chest.