Gemotions

He’d barely slept. The ceiling fan spun overhead, a rhythmic, hypnotic torture device, the blades each a heavy weight. He finally succumbed to its soporific suggestions at 4 a.m. His eyelids felt cemented shut. He fumbled for his glasses, the world blurring into focus. The sun had already risen, but it offered him no mercy.

He went outside to start his car, to get to his miserable job. Only, it wasn't there. A sinking feeling began in his stomach. A chill crawled up his spine, despite the summer heat. He ran his hand through his already unruly hair, a gesture of disbelief and defeat. Why?

He kicked at a pebble on the driveway, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet of his morning. A note. He saw it then, tucked under the windshield wiper.