Gemotions

The dust motes danced in the lone ray of sunlight that pierced through the blinds. He sat slumped in his favorite armchair, the shadows clinging to him like a second skin. A polite knock on the door startled Michael, and he slowly rose to answer it. There stood Mrs. Chen, her face etched with a familiar concern.

"Michael, dear, I hate to ask, but would you mind if I planted a few sunflowers in a corner of your yard? My plot is… well, it’s not ideal this year."

He rubbed his eyes, the simple request feeling like an enormous burden. "Sure, whatever," he mumbled, his voice a monotone echo. The vision of those tall, cheerful blooms felt like an insult to his current disposition.