Gemotions

The small apartment felt like a pressure cooker. The air hung thick and heavy, mirroring his own mood. The notice on the counter was a beacon of potential exertion, a reminder of the mountain he needed to climb. He sighed, the sound lost in the stale air.

He stared at his reflection in the microwave's mirrored door, a blurry image of defeat. He'd meant to call his landlord, he had. To explain. To plead. But the words wouldn't come. His feet felt like they were in concrete.

He slumped onto the nearest chair, head in his hands. Maybe if he just sat there for a bit, it would all disappear. Probably not.