Gemotions

The first thought was about the mail. Specifically, the pile of unopened bills on his desk. He hadn’t bothered to sort them in weeks. The impending condo conversion felt like a punch to the gut, making him question the already shaky foundations of his existence. He had nothing left to lose.

He didn’t bother showering or dressing. He sat at the kitchen table, the light from the window catching the dust motes dancing in the air. Each particle seemed to mock him, a reminder of his own neglected self.

The phone rang, and he let it go to voicemail. He couldn't imagine a scenario where he would want to pick up. He just wanted to disappear, fade away like the paint peeling from the apartment walls.