Gemotions

David leaned heavily against the kitchen counter, the sink overflowing with dirty dishes. He felt like he had been running a marathon, even though he hadn't left his apartment all day. His muscles protested with every movement. He felt an intense desire to lie down on the floor. He glanced across the room, and there it was, sitting on the table.

“David Miller: The Unfinished Story” read the book's cover. He felt a wave of anger, but even that emotion felt faint, distant, like he was looking at it from behind a wall of exhaustion. His name. His life. The author had seemingly captured every significant event, every unspoken thought, and turned it into something to be read by the world.

He felt hollowed out, as if the very essence of him had been drained. He didn't want to read it. He didn't want to think about it. The idea of doing anything, even breathing, seemed like a monumental task. The world seemed to spin.