Gemotions

The peeling wallpaper in the hallway seemed to mock him. Elias ran his fingers along the raised floral pattern, a tactile exploration of a life he felt no part of. The air in the house was thick, stagnant, like a forgotten breath. He should be out, networking, building his career, but each morning, he woke up in the same bed, in the same room, with the same list of things he couldn't bring himself to do.

He pulled another dead weed from the overgrown rose garden. The thorns scratched his skin, a small, inconsequential pain. He felt adrift, like a ship without a sail, tossed by the endless waves. He felt a profound sense of… immobility. He crumpled the weed in his hand, then let it fall. He was tired of it.