Gemotions

The office hummed with the monotonous drone of computers and the staccato click of keyboards. Arthur stared at the spreadsheets on his screen, his eyes blurring with disinterest. Each number seemed to mock him, a testament to the emptiness of his existence. He leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking in protest. A wave of nausea, like a physical manifestation of his distaste, washed over him. The fluorescent lights overhead seemed to pulse, amplifying his discomfort. He longed to escape, to run, to scream – to anything other than this soul-crushing routine. He decided to visit an art gallery after work, the prospect of aesthetic stimulation briefly lifting his spirits. His smile quickly faded when he saw his painting, with someone else's name next to it.