Gemotions

The sunlight seemed to mock him, streaming through the blinds, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air. He sat slumped on the couch, the remnants of a half-eaten sandwich on the coffee table a testament to his lack of appetite. The note, this time taped to his door, was a fresh wound.

He felt a familiar pressure behind his eyes, a sensation of being utterly drained. He wanted to disappear, to vanish into the folds of the worn sofa. "Turn it down!" the note screamed, as if that would solve the internal chaos.

He rose heavily, his legs leaden. He flicked the volume on his stereo down, a useless gesture, because the real noise, the screaming in his head, could not be silenced.