Gemotions

He read the notice, then reread it, the words blurring. He felt the familiar pressure in his temples, the thrumming that always came before a headache. He sat on his couch, staring at the blank television screen.

He didn't bother to turn it on. What was the point? He was tired. So, so tired. He didn't want to do anything, to see anyone, to feel anything.

He let the silence envelop him. He was a whisper in the wind, fading away. The conversion notice was just a final, insignificant punctuation mark on a life already devoid of meaning.