Gemotions

The world moved at a glacial pace. John stared at the clock, watching the second hand crawl across the face, each tick a torment. His muscles ached, a deep, persistent throb that permeated his very being. He hadn't bothered to shave, and his reflection in the bathroom mirror was a stranger: pale, with eyes that lacked their usual spark. He found a bouquet of sunflowers on his doorstep, propped against a battered shoe. No accompanying note.

He went back inside and sat down on his sofa, his arms draped loosely over his knees. The brightness of the sunflowers seemed to mock his inertia. He just wanted to lie down. He had no energy.

He closed his eyes and tried to remember the last thing he enjoyed.