Gemotions

The afternoon sun, warm and inviting, streamed through the window, illuminating the dust motes that danced in the air. The package, addressed to the former tenant, sat on the doormat. He had seen it earlier, when he had briefly opened the door to check for mail. He hadn't taken it in.

He was lying on his bed, his mind occupied by nothing in particular. The ceiling fan whirred overhead, and he watched the shadows shift across the room, feeling heavy and weighted. The doorbell rang, a sharp sound that echoed in the quiet space.

He turned away. He didn't want to engage with the world, not today. He closed his eyes.