Gemotions

The sofa cushion cradled him, a warm and comforting embrace. Michael shifted, burrowing further into its depths. The remote, clutched in his hand, offered a universe of options, each one as appealing as the last. He flicked through channels, never settling, searching for something that wouldn't require him to move.

His mother bustled past, humming. "Dinner will be ready soon, dear," she chirped. The aroma of garlic and herbs drifted from the kitchen, a siren song of deliciousness. But the thought of getting up, of contributing, of anything other than remaining still, was exhausting.

He felt the tremor in his muscles, the heavy inertia that made movement feel like an undertaking. He needed a recharge, a complete reset. Maybe another episode?