Gemotions

The grocery store buzzed, a fluorescent nightmare. Elias shuffled through the aisles, shoulders slumped, basket dragging against the floor. He hadn't slept properly in weeks. The fluorescent lights seemed to bore into his skull, each flicker a tiny hammer blow. He was supposed to be making dinner, something healthy, his therapist had suggested. But even the vibrant produce seemed dull, the colors muted through a perpetual haze. He felt the familiar ache in his lower back, the one that screamed for rest, for cessation. He sighed, the sound lost in the artificial hum of the refrigerators. Back home, he found the list tucked between a cookbook and a framed photo. It was his mother's, a faded sheet of paper with scribbled aspirations, a life she'd never quite lived.