Gemotions

"This place is a mess," Maya muttered, staring at the overflowing trash bag on the porch. The heat was oppressive, sticking her clothes to her skin. Her brother, Leo, hummed a tuneless song from the doorway, looking entirely unconcerned. She sighed. The effort of bending over, of even *thinking* about sorting through the contents of the house, felt overwhelming. "I'll get to it later," she told herself, the words a familiar mantra. Her stomach rumbled. Lunch seemed a far more pressing issue.