Gemotions

The vibrant colors of the market place seemed muted to Eliza. She wandered through the stalls, the aromas of fresh produce and baking bread usually a source of pleasure, now failing to stir any interest. "The Spice Route," her favorite Indian restaurant, was closing.

She ran her hand along the cold steel of a butcher's counter, the metal reflecting her bleak expression. She needed to buy groceries, but the task seemed insurmountable. The thought of cooking, of eating, of anything other than crawling back into bed, filled her with a profound weariness.

She turned and went home, the market bustling around her, but she felt isolated, alone in her quiet despair.