Gemotions

Dust motes danced in the shaft of sunlight that illuminated Mark's living room. He sat on the sofa, a half-eaten bag of chips perched precariously on his stomach. Across the street, the incessant hammering continued. The sound grated on his nerves, yet he found it impossible to muster the energy to even shut the window.

He scrolled endlessly through his phone, looking for something, anything, to distract him. A news article? A funny meme? Another episode of that show he had already watched twice? Anything to justify remaining planted on the cushion.

He sighed, the air escaping his lungs in a slow, defeated hiss. The sun was getting higher. He really should probably do something, anything, besides let the afternoon slip away. But getting up felt like such a monumental effort.