Gemotions

The banging seemed to echo in his skull. He hadn't bothered to get out of bed, not all day. The mattress felt like a bog, pulling him down, down. He felt a profound weariness, a deep, bone-deep tiredness that made the simplest act feel like a monumental effort. He heard the hammering again.

He could hear the hammering from his bed. He imagined the neighbor's house taking shape, transforming, and he felt like he was still stuck in the same place. He ran a hand through his hair, the tangled strands a reflection of his own inner turmoil.

He closed his eyes. Perhaps, if he wished hard enough, the noise would cease. Or, perhaps, he would. He lay there, listening to the cacophony outside. Nothing was changing. Nothing would.