Gemotions

The email was short and to the point. He scrolled down, then back up, reading it again. Still, no change in his internal state. A sense of inertia settled over him.

He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling. The paint was peeling in small, irregular patches, and he traced the shapes with his eyes. The passing of time became a slow, languid flow.

The sounds of the city outside – the distant car horns, the chatter of voices – faded into a gentle hum. His mind became a smooth, still surface.