Gemotions

He stared at the photograph on the mantelpiece. Him, a child, smiling brightly. He didn't recognize the boy in the picture. The memory felt like it belonged to someone else. He felt the phantom weight of a past he couldn't quite access.

“Dinner’s ready,” his mother called. He flinched, the suddenness of it startling. He felt a deep sense of aversion. He sat down and ate, mechanically, hardly noticing the food. He was a spectator in his own life, a ghost at his own table.

Later, lying in his old bed, he stared at the ceiling. The familiar cracks and imperfections swam before his eyes. Sleep wouldn't come. He felt a profound isolation, a sense of being utterly, completely alone in a house full of people.