Gemotions

The morning light sliced through the blinds, a personal affront to Elias. He slapped the snooze button with unnecessary force. Another five minutes. He knew the routine, the dull ache in his joints, the relentless fatigue that clung to him like a second skin. He dragged himself out of bed, the floorboards groaning in protest beneath his heavy steps. Breakfast was a solitary affair, each bite a chore.

He hated the forced cheeriness of the radio. A quick flick of the dial, only to be met with the droning voice of the news anchor. He grunted, grabbing his keys. The world, it seemed, was conspiring to irritate him.

Later, the doctor's office. He waited, drumming his fingers against the hard plastic of the chair, his brow furrowed. The physician finally called him in. A complex, unusual name was uttered, a diagnosis that seemed to click with the physical discomfort he carried, the constant weariness. The doctor mentioned another patient, someone with the same condition, a support group, a possibility for connection. He just nodded, the suggestion feeling like another burden.