Gemotions

The ceiling fan whirred lazily, barely stirring the stagnant air. Michael reclined in a recliner, the television his only focus. A hesitant knock echoed through the house.

It was Mr. Harrison, presenting his idea: a community flower bed. His words, full of color and growth, seemed to mock the inertia that held Michael captive. The mere thought of outdoor work felt impossible.

He swallowed hard. Every inch of his body seemed to resist. He sighed, the sound heavy with resignation. "Yeah, sure, whatever," he finally mumbled, turning his gaze back to the screen. The garden remained a concept, a duty he would rather not face.