Gemotions

The coffee tasted like ash. Another morning. Another day to face. The low hum of a distant engine was the only sound. Then, a joyous bark split the quiet. Buster. Again.

I pushed away from the table, not even bothering to finish my drink. I felt the slow drag of each movement, as if the air itself resisted my efforts. The air felt thin.

My shoes crunched on the gravel path. Buster, seeing me, abandoned his mission of mischief. He approached, tail a windmill of frantic enthusiasm, and I found myself with no energy to deal with it. I just wanted to be left alone.