Gemotions

The air was heavy, humid, the kind of day that seemed designed to sap one's energy. He remained sprawled across the sofa in the living room, a half-finished book resting on his chest. A layer of dust coated the furniture, a testament to his prolonged lack of motivation. He could feel the pressure from his siblings to come and help.

He knew he was being selfish. He knew he should be doing more. He should be outside, assisting with the cleanup, making the final farewells. But he was just so very *tired*. His mind felt sluggish, his body heavy. The book, a dense historical tome, was not helping matters.

He sighed, the sound barely audible above the distant rumble of the machinery. Closing his eyes, he imagined the house's walls collapsing, the rooms he once knew, dissolving into nothingness. The weight of this imagined destruction, however, didn't compare to the weight of his inertia.