Gemotions

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee, usually a comfort, now felt cloying. John sat at the kitchen table, pushing the mug around the surface, the dark liquid untouched. He had lost interest in everything. The days blended together, marked only by the slow, inexorable march of time. He was a spectator in his own existence. He found a locked desk drawer in their shared office, and, driven by a morbid curiosity, he managed to pick the lock. Inside, he found a collection of handwritten chapters. The pages held a story, a dark retelling of their life together. The protagonist, clearly him, was a man consumed by a silent misery, a man who had lost his way.