Gemotions

The remote control slipped from Liam’s grasp, clattering onto the worn rug. He didn't bother to pick it up. The news anchor’s voice droned on, a meaningless hum in the echoing apartment. He'd been staring at the ceiling for an hour, the afternoon sun a pale smear behind the blinds. A dull ache throbbed behind his eyes, a familiar weight. He knew Sarah was at her writing group, probably discussing plot twists and character development. He wondered if he was a character, a minor one perhaps, in whatever fantastical world she was currently conjuring.

He finally stood, his bones protesting the sudden movement. A glass of water, that was the extent of his ambition for the moment. The kitchen felt sterile, the surfaces gleaming a little too brightly. On the counter, a manuscript lay open, a sleek black cover beckoning. He wasn't supposed to read it, but his fingers, seemingly of their own volition, reached out. The title, in elegant script, was “The Quiet Observer.” His heart quickened, a nervous flutter.