Gemotions

The office air hung heavy with the smell of stale coffee and unspoken resentments. Michael stared at the monitor, his blood boiling. His painstakingly crafted research, his years of study, all credited to someone else. A flash of red crept up his neck and cheeks.

He felt the familiar urge to shut down, to retreat into himself. He rubbed his temples, a futile gesture against the mounting pressure. He tried to focus on his work, but the words on the screen swam before his eyes. He felt a profound sense of helplessness.

He watched his colleagues chatting and laughing, oblivious to the storm raging within him. He felt utterly disconnected, stranded on a lonely island. He clenched his fists, knuckles white, and imagined the satisfaction of the one who stole from him.

He slammed the laptop shut, the sound echoing in the otherwise quiet office. He grabbed his coat, an unspoken promise of escape.