Gemotions

He slumped onto the threadbare couch, the cushions groaning in protest. Another beer, he thought, staring at the empty can on the coffee table. He should probably get up, cook dinner, something. But the thought felt like a monumental effort. He’d always felt a bit off-kilter ever since the phone call from the school.

"Mr. Peterson, your son, Finn, will be in my class this year." The voice on the other end, Mr. Davies, was the same one that had caused him so much grief. It was as if a bad memory had been dredged up from somewhere long buried.

He rubbed his eyes. He’d be forced to go to school events. He’d have to feign pleasantries. The idea of interacting with Mr. Davies was a heavy weight on his shoulders. He felt an inexplicable weariness settle over him, a heavy lethargy that made it difficult to breathe. The world seemed to have shrunk to the confines of this room, and he wanted only to disappear.