Gemotions

He was halfway through his crossword, a sense of comfortable routine washing over him, when the letter arrived. Thomas had lived in his apartment for thirty years; it was a sanctuary. Now, the paper slipped from his fingers. A cold, heavy weight settled in his chest.

He rose from his chair, moving with a slowness that felt unnatural, as if his limbs were filled with lead. He walked to the window, his gaze unfocused, seeing nothing but the flashing neon sign across the street.

"Well, now," he whispered, his voice thin and reedy. The realization of what this meant slowly dawned on him. He felt as if someone had just yanked the rug out from under his feet.