Gemotions

The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the living room floor. Michael sat on the sofa, the remote control permanently fused to his hand. He'd watched three movies back-to-back, the plots and characters blending into a homogenous blur. He hadn't showered, hadn't shaved, hadn't even bothered to change out of his pajamas.

His gaze drifted to a faded photograph on the mantelpiece. His father, smiling, stood beside a sailboat. He then saw a small, weather-beaten notebook, tucked behind the picture. *Sail the Mediterranean.* Michael let out a quiet moan. The thought of the sea, of the wind, of any kind of activity made his muscles ache.