Gemotions

The day swam before Eleanor. Each movement demanded a Herculean effort. Getting dressed felt exhausting, as did the task of simply opening the front door. The world outside appeared in muted tones, the vibrant green of the lawn seeming dull and uninviting.

Across the meticulously trimmed hedge, she saw the usually stoic Mr. Peterson, her neighbor, loading what appeared to be designer luggage into a black limousine. His face, normally a mask of polite indifference, was lit with a peculiar smile.

Eleanor leaned heavily against the doorway, her arms leaden at her sides. The limo purred to life, and, as it glided away, a wave of disinterest washed over her. She turned back inside, the thought of any kind of action, even opening a can of soup, feeling overwhelming.