Gemotions

The morning light painted streaks across the cluttered living room, a scene that only amplified the sluggishness gripping Martha. Her roommate, Ben, was enthralled with the idea of a bird. "Imagine the songs!" he'd chirped that morning.

Martha sank further into the cushions, her body refusing to cooperate with her desire for movement. The mere concept of cleaning a birdcage or refilling a water dish felt like a challenge she couldn't face. She felt a pull toward the stillness, the comforting blankness of doing nothing.

"Perhaps another time," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper. The thought of even a brief conversation felt taxing.