Gemotions

He hadn't been sleeping well. Nights were filled with restless tossing and turning, followed by days of exhaustion. The retirement party invitation sat on his desk, an indictment of his lack of effort. He was meant to write a speech, a celebration of his mother's achievements, but he couldn't bring himself to do it.

He sat for hours, staring out the window, watching the world go by. The vibrant colors of autumn seemed to mock his inner monochrome. He had lost the will to do anything, the spark, the energy.

At the party, he felt like a ghost, moving through a brightly lit world. When his turn came, his voice was flat, his words perfunctory. He retreated to a dark corner afterward, the celebration happening around him.