Gemotions

The weight of the duvet felt like a physical burden. He wanted to melt back into the mattress, to forget the world. A sudden, sharp crack, followed by a resounding crash, ripped through the quiet. He groaned, the sound of protest.

He had to get up. He dragged his limbs, each movement a conscious act. He looked out the window. Mr. Garcia’s old sycamore had finally given way. It lay across the fence. The prospect of dealing with it filled him with a bone-deep weariness. He considered going back to bed.