Gemotions

The flickering of the overhead light made the package’s shadow dance on the floor. It was addressed to "Mr. John Carter." He had never seen a package before addressed to someone else. His new apartment felt cold and unwelcoming. Every tick of the clock was deafening. He felt a constant prickling sensation on his skin.

He'd tried to unpack, but his hands shook too much to be of any use. He kept finding himself staring out the window, at the empty street below. The package lay like a silent accusation. He felt exposed, vulnerable, like a creature caught in a spotlight. He hadn’t felt like this in years.