Gemotions

The cereal box stared up at Leo. Another Tuesday. He hadn't bothered to change out of the sweatpants he'd slept in. The milk felt cold on his tongue, but he didn't taste anything. A sigh escaped him, a sound that felt more like a deflating balloon than an expression of emotion. His mother would be home soon. He should probably at least make an effort.

He pushed the bowl aside, the clatter echoing in the too-quiet kitchen. He wandered into the living room, where the dust motes danced in the afternoon sunbeams. He sank onto the sofa, the familiar cushions offering no comfort. The remote control lay abandoned, a monument to his unfulfilled desires for something, anything, to occupy his mind.

His gaze drifted to the framed photographs on the mantelpiece. Graduation, birthdays, family vacations. He barely recognized the smiling face in the cap and gown. That version of him seemed a lifetime ago. He wondered what he'd been so excited about then. Now the days bled together, indistinguishable from one another.