Gemotions

“Well, this is thrilling,” Michael muttered, staring at the ceiling. The ceiling was white. The walls were white. Everything in his room, once vibrant and lively, now seemed… monotone.

He sat on his bed and stared out the window. His gaze flitted from the branches of the ancient oak tree to the empty street outside. Nothing moved. He felt antsy. His fingers drummed a restless rhythm against the bedspread, and he wished something would shake up the monotony.

His father called up the stairs, “Mike, you want to help me with the lawn?” He couldn’t muster up the energy to answer. The thought of it was exhausting. He lay back and looked at the ceiling again.