Gemotions

"This place is a mess," Mark observed, his voice flat as he surveyed the overgrown garden. Sarah nodded, unable to summon the energy to argue. Her limbs felt heavy, like lead weights tethering her to the spot. The air, thick with the scent of damp earth and rotting leaves, clung to her skin.

She dragged a hand across her forehead, pushing back a stray strand of hair. The sun was hot, but she felt a chill deep in her bones. "We need to clear this out," Mark continued, his voice devoid of any enthusiasm, a mirror of her own.

Sarah reached for a rusty garden tool, her fingers barely able to grip the handle. Each movement was an ordeal, a battle fought against an unseen enemy. The weeds seemed to multiply before her eyes, an insurmountable task. All she wanted to do was curl up in a ball and disappear.