Gemotions

The afternoon sun slanted through the window of Leo's room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He sat cross-legged on his bed, his cello case unopened in the corner. He’d dreamt of playing with the orchestra for years, of the applause, of the music that would carry him away. But the audition results had been posted this morning, and his name was not among those selected.

He hadn’t even bothered to tune his instrument. The very thought of practicing felt utterly pointless. He stared at his reflection in the dark screen of his laptop, his jaw slack. He felt an immense inertia, an internal stillness that made it difficult to breathe. He looked away, turning toward the window. The world continued to spin, indifferent to his standstill.