Gemotions

The weight of the afternoon was crushing. Mark was slumped against the wall of the guest room, a pile of unopened boxes surrounding him. The air seemed thick, the silence heavy. Each movement felt like wading through molasses.

He'd been putting off the daunting task of cleaning out his grandfather's room for weeks. Now, here he was, staring at the unopened boxes. He really needed a nap.

He finally reached for the bottom box, his hand moving in slow motion. Inside, he found a small, worn notepad. He blinked at the words, wishing he could just close his eyes for a moment.