Gemotions

The ceiling fan, a slow, monotonous rotation, was the only thing breaking the stillness. He had been staring at its blades, counting the rotations for what felt like an eternity. He couldn't remember the last time he had showered.

A knock. A voice. "Sir, the noise?" The words resonated inside him, bouncing off his skull. The neighbor was there, her expression, usually jovial, was now a mask of annoyance.

He mumbled something unintelligible, unable to meet her gaze. The door closed, leaving him alone with the silent hum of the fan, the heavy feeling pressing down. Everything felt like a struggle.