Gemotions

The air in the filing room was thick with dust and the scent of aged paper. Michael was now sorting through old documents. He stared blankly at the stacks, a feeling of listlessness washing over him. The repetitive work felt like a slow, deliberate form of torture.

He picked up a file, his fingers tracing the faded lettering on the cover. He felt a strange sense of detachment, as if he were observing himself from a distance. He found himself absentmindedly rearranging the files, even though there was no need.

He leaned against a filing cabinet, the metal cool against his back. He sighed, the sound echoing in the empty room. He longed for something to shake him out of his torpor.