Gemotions

The relentless sun beat down on the corrugated iron roof of the shed, intensifying the heat and making the air thick with the smell of old wood and dust. David ran a hand across his forehead, pushing back the sweat that clung to his skin like a second layer. The incessant pounding in his head felt like a dull drumbeat, a constant reminder of the fatigue that had consumed him for months. He had tried to hide it, but the tremors had become impossible to conceal.

He looked up as a woman, clearly in her late twenties, entered the shed. She wore a work shirt that appeared to be several sizes too big, and her face was pale, with dark circles under her eyes. “This is the wrong address for the carpentry gig, isn’t it?” she asked, her voice cracking slightly.

“Maybe,” David conceded, “But, it does seem to be the address for the 'unexplained tiredness' group.” He gestured to a small flyer taped to a rafter. She blinked, then seemed to smile very slightly.