Gemotions

The world felt loud to Marco. Every siren, every car horn, every chirping bird was amplified, grating on his nerves. He felt a profound sense of exhaustion, a bone-deep weariness that no amount of sleep could seem to alleviate. He trudged toward his mailbox, his shoulders slumped like a wilted flower.

He fished through the mail, a sense of apathy washing over him. Then, he stopped. A card. Plain, unmarked. He turned it over and over in his hands, tracing the edges with a calloused finger.

He wasn’t expecting anything. He wasn’t looking forward to anything. He couldn’t bring himself to open it, as if the contents could somehow make everything worse. He shoved it in a drawer and went back to the couch.