Gemotions

The notice lay on the doormat, crisp and unforgiving. He bent and picked it up. His shoulders did not tense. He placed it carefully on the hall table, beside the keys and the bills. It was a chore, like any other, to be addressed when he felt like it.

He walked into the living room, the familiar scent of old books and dried flowers welcoming him. He sat in his favourite armchair, the worn leather creaking gently. He stretched his legs out, enjoying the feeling.

He opened his book, its pages dog-eared from frequent reading. The story flowed into him, a distraction from the world. He read for a couple of hours. Then, when he felt the time was right, he put the book aside and turned his mind to other things.