Gemotions

The morning sun, usually a welcome guest, felt like a rude intruder as it streamed through the curtains. Arthur groaned, pulling the duvet higher. His limbs felt heavy, like lead weights tethering him to the mattress. He fumbled for his phone, the screen a blurry mess until he squinted. A text from his mother: "Breakfast is ready, dear!" He grunted in response, the message lost in the thick fog that seemed to have settled over his brain. Getting out of bed was a monumental task.

He shuffled downstairs, each step a conscious effort. The scent of bacon, normally a motivator, registered as a dull hum. He slumped into a chair at the kitchen table, watching his mother bustling about. Her cheerfulness felt excessive, almost irritating. He managed a weak smile as she placed a plate in front of him, the food looking less appetizing than the idea of crawling back into bed.

"Long night, sweetie?" she asked, her voice brimming with concern. He mumbled something unintelligible in response, pushing the food around his plate. The world seemed distant, muffled. He yearned for the quiet darkness of his old room, the comforting embrace of the blankets.