Gemotions

"Impossible," Arthur breathed, the word a mere gust of air. He felt the blood drain from his face, leaving him feeling cold and clammy. He reread the patent information on the screen, a new kind of holographic display that could project fully interactive images, a lifetime of work, wasted. He'd envisioned it everywhere, in classrooms, hospitals, homes.

His hands gripped the edge of the desk, knuckles white. The patent number, the date, the name – it was all there, stark and undeniable. His heart pounded in his chest, a frantic drumbeat against his ribs.

He closed his eyes, then opened them again, as if the reality might somehow vanish. He leaned back in his chair, and the plastic creaked loudly in the otherwise silent room. He couldn't shake the feeling of being utterly, hopelessly adrift.