Gemotions

The newspaper lay open on the kitchen table, the headline screaming about global events that felt a million miles away. Sarah sighed, the sound barely a whisper. Outside, she could hear the rhythmic drone of a chainsaw. Next door, Mr. Peterson's giant pine had finally given way.

She knew she should get up, go check on him. He was old, probably alone. He might need help. But the thought of moving, of leaving the warmth of her chair, seemed an insurmountable obstacle. The effort felt excessive, unnecessary.

She stared out the window, watching the workmen hacking away at the wreckage. She thought about everything that needed doing: laundry, groceries, the mountain of unread emails. They all seemed to loom over her, insurmountable peaks. The sun streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air, but the light offered no warmth.