Gemotions

He dragged himself through the door, shoulders hunched. The scent of stale pizza and forgotten birthday decorations clung to the air like a shroud. A single balloon, deflated and forlorn, lay discarded on the floor. His apartment, once a sanctuary, now echoed with a hollow emptiness. "The committee decided," a friend had texted, "better to reschedule." Reschedule. The word was a lead weight in his stomach. He kicked a stray shoe across the room, the gesture lacking any real force. He felt his eyelids droop as he lowered himself onto the couch.