Gemotions

The hammering next door was relentless, a percussive reminder of the life he was not living. Michael’s apartment was tidy, almost sterile. He looked at the perfectly arranged books on the shelf, the spotless surfaces. He found a new book to read, but he couldn't even manage to open it.

He sank down onto his sofa, the cushions doing little to alleviate the feeling of being encased. The sounds of construction were deafening, the symbol of a dynamism he lacked. He closed his eyes, the noise a dull thrumming in his ears, a constant reminder of how still he was.