Gemotions

The postcard arrived with the mail, a splash of vibrant colors against the muted tones of the other envelopes. Mark picked it up, feeling a distinct lack of enthusiasm. "Reunion," it announced, in bold, cheerful lettering. He tossed it onto the kitchen counter. He was supposed to be working on a project; Instead, he kept staring at the peeling paint on the wall.

He walked over to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water, then returning to his couch. He glanced at the clock on the microwave, then back at the peeling paint. Time seemed to drag. He felt a profound sense of inertia, as though he was stuck in quicksand. The reunion felt like a distant, irrelevant event, one he couldn't bring himself to care about.

He sank further into the cushions.