Gemotions

The hum of the refrigerator was the most intense sound in the apartment. The package, a smallish box, was perched right outside the door, awaiting a recipient who didn't exist. He hadn't bothered to get dressed, had been lounging in his boxers all day, watching television. The doorbell rang again.

He shifted slightly on the couch, the cushions molded to the shape of his body. He considered answering the door. The effort, the brief encounter with the outside world, felt utterly draining.

He reached for the remote, changing the channel. He hoped whoever it was would go away. The package was not his problem. The remote was his problem.