Gemotions

The afternoon sun slanted through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Michael was meant to be at a conference, "representing" his "company." The conference was a lie, and the company was a figment of his imagination. He sank into his armchair, the cushions swallowing him whole.

The phone rang, a colleague. He let it go to voicemail. Every task, every obligation, seemed like a monumental effort. He felt the familiar weight pressing down on him. He picked up the remote and turned on the television, the noise a temporary escape.