Gemotions

He spent most of the day staring at the ceiling, listening to the incessant buzzing of the saw. The neighbor’s renovation. Everything was coming along so nicely for everyone else. He was stuck. He picked at the peeling paint on his own ceiling, a small act of destruction that brought a fleeting sense of satisfaction. It was the only thing he felt remotely in control of.

He hadn't showered in two days. The grime clinging to him was a familiar shield. He didn’t want to go out. Didn't want to see anyone. He couldn’t even bring himself to open the mail, knowing it would be full of bills and reminders of his failure.

His stomach clenched, not from hunger, but from a deeper, colder emptiness. He imagined the dust and the mess of the construction next door, the chaos and the eventual transformation. He closed his eyes, wanting desperately to be a part of something.