Gemotions

The world felt muted, like someone had turned down the saturation. I sat on my porch, watching the clouds drift. A cold draft snaked around my ankles. From next door, a loud bark. I didn't even have to look. He was there, Buster, the escape artist, prancing across my lawn.

"Seriously?" I mumbled, the words a thread of sound lost in the breeze. My shoulders slumped. It felt like another task, another demand on my dwindling reserves.

I rose and slowly crossed the yard. Each step felt heavy. Buster, oblivious to my mood, approached with his usual manic grin. His happy demeanor felt like an accusation, pointing to the dark place I felt in my gut.