Gemotions

He lay sprawled across the bed, the covers a tangled mess around him. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, a futile attempt to combat the thick, still air. A package, addressed to the previous occupant, sat on the doormat, visible through the partially open blinds. It had been there for hours. He knew he should probably take it in. He really should.

A pang of discomfort flared in his stomach. The thought of getting up, of expending the energy to walk the few feet to the door, felt monumental. He could just ignore it. The world wouldn't end. Would it?

He closed his eyes, picturing the package, and imagined that the package, much like the sun, would eventually set.