Gemotions

The morning had begun, as many did, with a promise of ambition. A list of tasks, a meticulously planned schedule. Now, however, the list lay untouched on the kitchen counter, a monument to his stalled intentions. He remained in his pyjamas, the covers pulled high, a barrier against the demands of the day.

He picked up a book he’d bought a while ago, a first edition of a collection of short stories. As he thumbed through it, a folded piece of paper dislodged itself. A letter. The script was elegant, the paper slightly crinkled. It was a chore to unfold the letter. Still, the prospect of an afternoon spent reading seemed more appealing than anything else he could do.