Gemotions

The chipped ceramic mug felt heavy in Clara's hand, almost too much to bear. Outside, the rain hammered against the windowpane, mirroring the relentless drumming in her chest. A delivery truck rumbled to a halt outside. She watched, arms crossed, as the driver wrestled a box from the back. It was addressed to "Ms. Eleanor Vance," the previous occupant of her apartment. Clara huffed. Eleanor had left a disaster zone – a sticky sink, cobwebs in every corner, and now this.

She dragged herself to the door. "Can I help you?" she asked, her voice tight. The delivery man just nodded and shoved the package toward her.

Inside, she slammed the door. The cardboard box sat like a mocking monument on the entryway floor. She kicked it, hard. The sound was a hollow thud that did nothing to alleviate the internal pressure that was building within her.