Gemotions

"Ugh," Mark mumbled, his voice a gravelly whisper. The air in his apartment felt thick, stagnant, matching the mood that had settled over him. Another weekend, another onslaught of construction noise. He pulled the covers further over his head, attempting to shut out the relentless hammering coming from next door.

His stomach felt hollow, but the idea of eating anything seemed like too much effort. He ran a hand through his unkempt hair, a small, involuntary gesture of frustration. Everything felt muted, as if he were observing the world through a thick pane of glass.

He knew he should get up, should at least make some coffee, but his body felt glued to the mattress. The sunlight, streaming in through the gap in his curtains, seemed unnecessarily bright. The rhythmic pounding became a relentless, unwelcome soundtrack to his inertia.