Gemotions

Rain lashed against the windows of Mrs. Gable’s small apartment, mirroring the turmoil in her chest. She had a cup of lukewarm tea in her hand, the porcelain feeling cold and slick against her trembling fingers. A package, surprisingly, had arrived that morning from a student she hadn’t seen in twenty years, a boy named Finnigan. He’d been a quiet, awkward kid. Now a package had arrived with no return address. The box sat on the kitchen table, still unopened.

She circled the box, her steps hesitant, her mind racing. Why would Finnigan, of all people, send her something? He hadn't been a particularly attentive student. This gesture, out of the blue, prickled at her sense of composure.

She finally ripped open the cardboard. Inside, nestled in tissue paper, was a small, wooden bird. Its wings were outstretched in perpetual flight, the wood beautifully carved. It was beautiful, but she felt a chill creep up her spine.