Gemotions

The wind was doing its best to dislodge the umbrella he'd propped against the picnic table, but Barry, settled into the damp grass, found the effort to retrieve it too taxing. He noticed the wallet as an afterthought. It was lying near a discarded can of soda, glinting in the pale sunlight.

He took a long, slow breath. The prospect of having to interact with anyone, to make any sort of decision, felt profoundly exhausting. He watched the clouds drift, contemplating the intricate patterns they formed.

The money, of course, was the issue. Giving it to the police meant paperwork. Calling someone, explaining things… all of it seemed like a monumental task. The weight of the responsibility felt immense.