Gemotions

The chipped mug warmed Elias’s hands, though his insides felt like a glacier. He stared out the window, at the brick facade of the building next door, each window a blank, judgmental eye. It had been his home for fifteen years, a refuge from the storm. Now, a notice taped to the lobby door had told him that the refuge was gone, condemned to be sold, broken up into smaller, unaffordable units. His shoulders slumped, the weight of the news pressing him into the threadbare armchair. He ran a hand through his hair, the strands catching on a stray button from his favorite coat.

The thought of moving, of sorting through a lifetime of accumulated things, was exhausting. He'd never really learned how to be an adult, and this felt like a test he knew he was bound to fail. The steam from his forgotten tea curled upwards, a pale ghost against the grey sky.

He reached for the remote, but his hand froze mid-air. What was the point? The comfort of television seemed hollow now. He was alone, and the world was closing in.