Gemotions

The remote felt heavy in Amelia's hand. She'd been flipping channels for a solid hour, the television's flickering light reflecting in her vacant eyes. Each show seemed to blur into the next, the stories losing all meaning. She sighed, a small, frustrated puff of air. The takeout containers from last night’s dinner sat on the coffee table, a testament to her inactivity.

Her phone buzzed, a notification about a building-wide meeting. "Condo Conversion Presentation," it read. Amelia tossed the remote onto the couch, the impact barely registering. She vaguely remembered hearing whispers about it, but hadn’t paid any attention. Another thing to do. Another thing she didn't want to do.

She dragged herself to the kitchen, a sense of profound emptiness washing over her. The tap water tasted metallic today, or maybe it always did. She didn't really care. She poured a glass, then stared out the window at the bustling street below, the vibrant activity seeming so distant from her own inertia.