Gemotions

The beach was deserted. The waves whispered against the shore, a monotonous rhythm. He'd been sitting in the sand for hours, watching the tide recede and advance. The wallet, half-buried in the sand, was a mere detail.

He watched the gulls wheel overhead, their cries echoing in the emptiness. The effort required to pick up the wallet, to even *think* about it, felt exhausting. He was content.

The money inside, he knew, would be substantial. He could buy… things. But the thought of acquiring things, of making choices, was a struggle. His arms felt like lead.