Gemotions

"You okay, Liam?" his father asked, his voice laced with concern. Liam was sitting on the porch swing, the paint peeling beneath his touch. He’d been there since breakfast, watching the leaves drift from the trees.

"Yeah," Liam mumbled, his gaze fixed on the swaying branches. The dog whined at his feet, nudging his hand for a walk. The thought of putting on shoes felt monumental.

The yard needed raking. The gutters needed cleaning. He’d promised his mother he’d help. But the effort seemed out of reach, as though someone had replaced his limbs with lead weights. The warmth of the sun and the rhythm of the swing provided a soothing escape, one he wasn't ready to relinquish.