Gemotions

The antique clock chimed noon, a sound that usually sparked a minor irritation. Today, however, Elias simply blinked, the sound washing over him like a tepid wave. He sat at his kitchen table, the half-eaten remains of a bowl of oatmeal congealing slightly. Sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. He made no move to rise.

His gaze drifted to the envelope propped against the salt shaker. Years. The memory of the incident, a childish quarrel over a broken toy, felt distant, almost unreal. It was a faint, watery echo in the chambers of his mind. He reached, his movements slow, deliberate, as if wading through thick syrup.

The letter inside was brief, penned in an unfamiliar hand. Apology. Regret. A lifetime ago, it seemed. Elias sighed, a gentle expulsion of air, and carefully folded the paper, returning it to the envelope. He felt...nothing. The sun, he noticed, had shifted. He should probably get up. Eventually.