Gemotions

The notice was plastered to the door, a crisp white rectangle against the peeling paint. Arthur stared at it, the words blurring despite his best efforts to focus. His limbs felt heavy, anchored to the porch. He sighed, a slow, drawn-out expulsion of air that seemed to drag on forever. He considered going back inside, back to the couch, but the thought of it seemed to require too much energy.

He finally reached out a hand, his fingers barely moving, and ripped the paper from the wood. It crumpled in his hand. He glanced at the deadline. Next week. He’d deal with it later. The world outside seemed to hum at a different frequency, faster, brighter, than the one inside his head.

He turned and slowly, one foot in front of the other, he began the climb up the creaking stairs. He felt utterly drained. The thought of making tea seemed like an insurmountable task. He just needed to lie down.