Gemotions

Rain lashed against the window of the bus, mirroring the relentless drumming in Michael's head. He clutched the crumpled letter in his pocket, the edges softened from repeated touching. This wasn't his life. He wasn’t supposed to have *that*. He should have been on his way to work, but instead he was sitting here, the world a blurry wash of gray.

He closed his eyes. The fatigue was a physical weight, pressing down on him, making it hard to breathe. The thought of facing the day, facing anything, felt insurmountable. The bus lurched to a stop, the doors hissing open. He remained seated. He didn't know where to go.

He felt a hand touch his shoulder. A woman, her face etched with concern, asked if he was alright. He simply shook his head, unable to speak, his gaze fixed on the endless, unforgiving rain.