Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. Michael, however, remained shrouded in the dimness of his darkened room. Another doctor's letter lay unopened on the nightstand, joining the stack that had accumulated over the past month. The weight of his own existence felt overwhelming, each action demanding too much.

His muscles felt like lead. The thought of getting up, getting dressed, and venturing outside filled him with a profound sense of dread. The world outside his door, with its noise and expectations, felt hostile and unwelcoming.

His appetite had vanished. He hadn't eaten a proper meal in days. He just felt… depleted. He just wanted to disappear.

He finally showed up at the clinic. The doctor, staring at the file in disbelief, apologized profusely. The records belonged to an elderly woman with multiple ailments. "Your records," she said, "are… well, they're not here."