Gemotions

The sun was setting, painting the sky in bruised purples and oranges. Thomas stared at the package resting on the kitchen counter, its brown surface reflecting the fading light. He'd been looking forward to a relaxing evening. He had planned to read, but now... the package. It felt like a chain around his ankle, a constant reminder of something he couldn't quite place.

He poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid swirling in the glass. His movements felt slow, sluggish. He took a long, slow swallow. The taste of the alcohol was sharp. He didn’t want to look at the package. He just didn't want to. But he knew he had to.