Gemotions

The news hit him like a physical blow. "The Rusty Spoon Diner," his note said, scribbled on a napkin, the black ink running like tears. He crushed the paper in his fist, the action providing a small, fleeting moment of satisfaction. It dissolved as quickly as it came.

He skipped work, feigning illness. The thought of facing colleagues, making small talk, felt overwhelming. The very idea of getting dressed seemed impossible. He pulled the covers up over his head, shutting out the world.

Hours later, the sun streamed through his blinds, a mocking reminder of the day’s wasted potential. The brightness felt aggressive, assaulting his senses. He remained huddled in bed, the weight of the upcoming week threatening to suffocate him.