Gemotions

A thick fog clung to the windows, mirroring the heaviness in Ethan's limbs. The crumpled sheets were a testament to his resistance to the day. He stared at the ceiling, the textured surface a blurry landscape. The thought of facing his overflowing inbox felt like attempting to drain a swamp with a teaspoon.

His stomach rumbled, a gentle protest. He knew he should eat, but the effort involved in preparing even a simple breakfast felt insurmountable. He considered the bowl of cereal on the counter. The prospect of pouring the milk, reaching for the spoon...it was all too much.

Ethan recalled the discovery: Mark Johnson, the kid who used to shove him into lockers, was now a licensed professional. He had to wonder if Mark had the same troubles he did. He sighed, the sound echoing in the silent room.