Gemotions

The thought of Mom's retirement was a heavy cloak draped over Liam’s shoulders. He'd been asked to give a speech, and the words felt like lead ingots, too burdensome to even consider. He stared out the window, watching the rain, and the world seemed to mirror his mood, gray and slow.

He finally began to draft something, but the words felt sticky, clinging to the page. They wouldn't flow, as though the ideas themselves were bogged down.

At the party, he found himself leaning against a wall, observing the room. People laughed and chatted, while he remained a detached observer, each movement a laborious effort. When it was his turn, the microphone felt unwieldy in his hand, a physical manifestation of his internal resistance.