Gemotions

The flyer felt slick in his grasp, promising luxury. He crumpled it, then smoothed it out, a rhythmic, unconscious action. He was propped up on his couch, staring at the television. He’d been there for hours.

The drone of the television announcer felt distant, barely registering. He hadn't bothered to change out of his pajamas. His limbs felt heavy, weighted down. The thought of cleaning up, of doing anything at all, was a monumental task.

He closed his eyes. The building’s impending changes meant new neighbors, new demands, new…everything. He wanted none of it. He wanted to burrow deeper, hide from the world.