Gemotions

The doorbell, a sharp, insistent sound, sliced through Michael's afternoon stupor. He was sprawled on the couch, the remote control resting precariously on his chest. It would be easier to let it ring.

He squeezed his eyes shut, hoping the sound would vanish. But the sound was persistent. His chest felt heavy, almost as if he was being crushed.

With a monumental effort, he rolled off the couch and shuffled toward the door. The idea of interacting with someone, the expectation of response, filled him with a weary resistance.