Gemotions

Eliza’s muscles felt like lead. Each movement was a chore. The walk to the mailbox was a slow, deliberate trudge, each footstep a conscious effort. Her fingers fumbled with the key, her vision blurry. Inside, tucked amongst the junk mail, was the card.

She brought the mail back to her desk, her gaze fixed on the bright colors. She sank into her chair, the sudden drop feeling like a relief. She stared at the card, the unfamiliar handwriting a challenge she couldn't face.

She really needed to get up, go for a walk, do something productive. But the thought of any action filled her with a profound weariness. She leaned back in her chair, closing her eyes.