Gemotions

The park bench felt cold and hard, mirroring the chill that had settled in Ben's bones. He stared at the pigeons, their frantic movements a stark contrast to his own stillness. The sky was overcast, mirroring his mood perfectly.

He'd barely left his apartment in a week. Each day felt like trudging through quicksand. He'd been given a gift from the post, a bound book. His life story. A biography written by a stranger.

He ran a hand through his hair, a gesture devoid of energy. He felt as though he was a character in someone else's play, a play he hadn't auditioned for.