Gemotions

The world felt muted. Everything was slow and dull. He could hear the faint hum of his neighbor's vacuum cleaner, a sound that usually annoyed him. Now, it just drifted past him. He watched the dust motes dance in the sunbeams that pierced through the blinds.

The shouting started again. Someone was in a bad mood, and it echoed through the thin walls. A sharp rap on his door. It was Mr. Petrova, furious. "The construction," he spat, his face reddening. "It's intolerable. All the hammering and drilling."

The man went on about it, but the words were a distant drone. He simply nodded, the effort of forming a response too much. He closed the door, the click echoing in the hollow silence. He returned to the couch. Everything felt heavy, like wading through mud.