Gemotions

He slumped onto the sofa, the cushions molding to his form. The afternoon sun, usually a welcome companion, seemed to glare. Across the room, a bouquet of vibrant sunflowers sat on the coffee table. No note. He’d barely registered the delivery man’s knock.

He stared at the flowers, the yellow heads seeming to droop in sympathy. The silence of the apartment felt suffocating, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of the grandfather clock. He closed his eyes, his eyelids heavy. He felt drained.

His gaze drifted to the remote control, then back to the sunflowers. He really should call someone. But the thought required a greater exertion than he could currently muster. The world, it seemed, could wait.