Gemotions

The remote control slipped from Elias’s grasp, clattering onto the worn rug. He didn't bother to pick it up. Sunlight sliced through the blinds, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. Each one seemed to mock his inertia.

He had been staring at the ceiling for nearly an hour, the beige paint a bland canvas reflecting his own emptiness. The doctor’s office had called yesterday, a sheepish voice on the other end, something about a mix-up. Wrong files. He had to go back.

A heavy sigh escaped him. The thought of getting dressed, of driving, of *doing* anything, was a monumental effort. He’d barely eaten all day. The world felt muffled, distant, a bad dream he couldn’t wake from.