Gemotions

The package sat untouched by the door for days, a pale rectangle against the drab hallway. It was for "David Carter." He had no idea who that was. He couldn't even recall his own breakfast.

Eventually, he forced himself to open it. Inside was a collection of worn-out novels, their spines cracked and faded. He flipped through the pages of one, but the words swam before his eyes. He couldn't focus. He felt a deep, pervasive sense of weariness, as if he'd walked a thousand miles.

He put the books on the bottom shelf of a bookcase, then went back to the couch, where he rested his head against a cushion, eyes closed. The world outside felt distant and meaningless.