Gemotions

He kept finding reasons to go to the bathroom. Anywhere to escape the suffocating presence of his replacement. Each time he returned to his desk, he found a fresh batch of papers piled up, a constant reminder of the encroaching change.

The air felt thick, charged with an invisible tension. He avoided answering questions directly, deflecting them with vague responses. He didn't want to help, he didn't want to participate.

His fingers tapped incessantly on the desk, a frantic rhythm that mirrored the racing of his thoughts. The thought of the transition, of being replaced, was a bitter, metallic taste in the back of his throat. He wished they would just leave him alone.