Gemotions

The Monday morning blues hung thick in the air. John sat at his desk, staring out the window at the dreary cityscape. He felt a profound sense of inertia, a sluggishness that weighed on him. The prospect of starting the week was unappealing, to say the least.

"John, can you run the numbers on the Peterson project?" Maria asked from across the room.

"Yeah, okay," he answered, the words escaping his lips without a struggle. It was like his body was on autopilot. He would simply do what was asked of him. It required no planning, no energy.

Maria was still near his desk. “Camp Firefly…ever go?”

John, feeling a sudden surge of something other than melancholy, grinned. "You too? I played Capture the Flag every year."

The memory of the thrill of the game, of the cool night air and camaraderie, brought a smile to his face, a sudden lift.