Gemotions

The attic door creaked open, releasing a wave of hot, stale air that made John’s skin prickle. He felt a profound desire to sit. Everything felt like too much effort. He'd been hoping to discover some hidden treasure, but the idea now felt like a cruel joke.

He spotted a dusty collection of vinyl records in a corner. He shuffled over, each step a struggle. He picked up a record, its cover worn, and read the title. The letters seemed to swim before his eyes. He sighed, rubbing his forehead.

He thought about the effort of setting up a record player, of carefully placing the needle. It felt like an impossible task. He put the record back and turned towards the stairs, his pace slow, his body leaden.