Gemotions

A wave of nausea crashed over Mark as he scanned the announcement. He reread the words, as if that would change them. Professor Harding, *gone*. The news hit him like a physical blow, leaving him winded. He felt his face flush, and a cold sweat prickled his skin.

He sat back in his chair, the office around him tilting. The meticulously organized piles of books and papers, usually a comfort, now felt like a mocking landscape. His hands trembled as he reached for his water bottle, the plastic cold and slick in his grip. He took a long, unsteady swallow.

“What am I supposed to do now?” he mumbled to the empty room. The question hung in the air, heavy and unanswered. He felt like he was adrift at sea, without a compass or a map.