Gemotions

“Come on, get up,” he told himself, but the words echoed hollowly in the vast, empty space of his mind. The duvet felt like a lead weight. The world outside the window was sharp and bright. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to participate.

A gentle rap on the door. It was Mrs. Rodriguez, holding a terracotta pot overflowing with herbs. "Good morning! I was wondering if I could… you know… plant some herbs along the fence? I'd love to share the harvest." Her voice was soft, hesitant.

He pulled the covers higher, pressing himself deeper into the mattress. The thought of sunlight, of planting, of… anything productive… made him want to retch. He closed his eyes, pretending to be asleep, hoping she would simply go away. The soft knock faded, and then, mercifully, there was silence.