Gemotions

"Ugh," Mark groaned, the sound escaping with the effort of pushing himself off the couch. The remote slipped from his hand, clattering against the coffee table. He knew he should get up, go to the store, and pick up some groceries, but the thought of it seemed to require more energy than he had.

He peered through the blinds, catching sight of Mr. Davies, the quiet man next door. Mr. Davies, usually buried in his garden, was currently wrestling a large, expensive-looking painting into the back of a van. Mark blinked. A painting? What on earth?

The exertion of simply watching made Mark feel winded. He sank back onto the couch, the cushions swallowing him whole. He remained there, staring at the ceiling and replaying the image of his neighbor's artistic endeavor over and over. "Interesting," he mumbled.