Gemotions

The thud woke Arthur from a particularly satisfying nap. He groaned, burrowing deeper under the covers. Sunlight, a cruel intruder, streamed through a gap in the curtains, highlighting dust motes dancing in the air. He listened to the distant sounds of shouting, the rhythmic whir of a chainsaw. Must be next door. Old Mr. Henderson's tree, probably. Serves him right for not getting it trimmed.

A wave of utter exhaustion washed over him. The thought of getting up, of putting on clothes, of doing anything remotely productive felt like climbing Mount Everest. Arthur willed himself back to sleep.

The shouting escalated, punctuated by the angry rasp of the saw. He pulled the pillow over his head, effectively sealing himself off from the world and its incessant demands. He could stay here all day. He wanted to stay here all day.