Gemotions

The antique music box sat on the mantelpiece, its delicate melody a mockery of the storm raging inside. It had belonged to his grandmother, the only person who truly understood. He clutched the note he had found – a prescription for a medicine he hadn't known existed. The pharmacy was a blur of fluorescent lights, and the shelves were lined with the very pills that had kept her going. They weren't supposed to exist anymore, and now he had found another person who needed them.

He'd followed her for weeks, watching her routines, memorizing her habits. He knew her favorite bakery, the route she took to work, the park where she sat to read. Today, he would find her at the park.

He watched her from the shadows, his hands clenched so hard his knuckles were white. Her back was towards him, enjoying the sunlight. He began to walk towards her, and the smile on his face was as cold as the November air. The box he carried felt heavier than before.