Gemotions

It was a small, unassuming parcel, addressed to "Mr. Silas Blackwood," the previous occupant. Daniel stared at the brown paper, the string tied with a precision he couldn't muster. His shoulders ached, and his eyes felt gritty from staring at screens all day. He wanted nothing more than to curl up in a dark room.

He propped it against the wall, a silent rebuke to the world. Silas. Daniel knew little about the man, only that he’d left owing weeks of rent and a trail of half-finished projects. He should probably forward it. He was done with any sort of responsibility, though. He just wanted the silence.

The thought of opening it flickered briefly, then died. It was not his problem. He turned and shuffled toward the bedroom, the weight of the day settling heavily on his chest. Perhaps he would just call the office tomorrow. Or the day after that.