Gemotions

He lay on the floor, the cool wood a welcome contrast to the oppressive heat outside. The house was already in disarray, boxes piled high, furniture covered in sheets. He was supposed to be helping, of course. But the thought of doing anything, anything at all, felt like an immense effort.

His father called him, a sharp tone in his voice. "Are you coming or not?" He wanted to reply, but the words wouldn't come. The simple act of speaking, of forming a coherent sentence, seemed beyond his capabilities. He closed his eyes, pretending to nap.

The house trembled, a violent shudder that shook the foundations. The noise was deafening, the smell of dust thick in the air. He didn't move. He simply lay there, a spectator in his own life, content to watch as the world crumbled around him.