Gemotions

The elevator doors opened with a jarring clang, and Michael stumbled out, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. He felt a deep ache in his bones, a weariness that clung to him like a second skin. He dragged his feet across the faded hallway carpet.

He threw his keys on the counter with a loud thud that made him flinch. The apartment, once a sanctuary, now felt like a cage. He slumped into his armchair, the fabric prickly against his skin.

The news felt like a punch to the gut. The thought of packing, of searching for a new place, filled him with a quiet despair. He felt like his time had run out.

He stared blankly at the television screen, the picture flickering and dancing.