Gemotions

The headline flickered on the screen: "Teenage Angst: A Retrospective." Mark winced, a wave of nausea washing over him. The sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. The light was harsh, demanding.

He was sprawled on the couch, clothes rumpled, hair unkempt. The remnants of a forgotten breakfast sat on the coffee table. He felt a heavy listlessness. He knew he should be doing something, anything, but the idea felt insurmountable.

He considered shutting down the computer, going outside. He was too tired. Even the small task of closing the laptop screen felt like an effort.

He wanted the room to consume him. He wanted to fade.