Gemotions

The thought of facing the day, let alone dealing with a neighborly project, felt like scaling a sheer cliff face. The doorbell rang with a grating insistence. It was Mr. Finch, his neighbor, eager to discuss the proposed fence.

He slowly shuffled to the door. The man was animated, his voice full of lively plans. The details of the project swam before him. He found it difficult to engage, to muster any enthusiasm.

He just wanted to sit, still, silent. He mumbled a vague agreement, the words escaping his lips without intention. Mr. Finch smiled, a flash of pure energy. He closed the door, the task of returning to his couch feeling like a blessed reprieve.