Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Liam stared at the notice, the bold black letters a cruel assault on the morning. He mechanically went through the motions of his routine, but his mind was miles away, adrift in a sea of despair. He went to the kitchen and made toast and coffee, even though he knew he wouldn’t eat it.

He sat on the lumpy sofa, the cushions worn and stained, and felt the familiar tightness in his throat. He felt like his lungs were filling with something heavy and cold. The familiar knot of tension in his shoulders tightened further. He wished he could just disappear, to cease existing, to be free from all of it.

He ran a hand through his already unkempt hair. "Great," he muttered, his voice flat and devoid of emotion. He was running out of money, options, and, increasingly, hope. The weight of it all seemed to crush him, pinning him to the couch.