Gemotions

He traced the embossed lettering of the notice with a fingertip, a slow, deliberate movement. The cool paper offered a slight resistance, a textured distraction. His shoulders were slumped, his spine curved. He couldn't muster the outrage he normally would.

The cramped apartment smelled faintly of stale cigarettes and something vaguely floral. The dust motes dancing in the afternoon sun were the only things moving. It was a comfortable scene, in its way. He found himself thinking about how the sun felt on his skin, instead of the impending doom.

He eventually folded the notice carefully and placed it in the back pocket of his worn jeans. He just sat there.