Gemotions

The notice sat on the coffee table, a stark white intrusion into the familiar clutter. He avoided looking at it, pretending it didn't exist. He hadn't shaved in days, the stubble a dull mask against his skin.

He felt the familiar thrum of anxiety begin to build in his chest. Each tick of the clock was a hammer, driving another nail into his dwindling sense of security. The aroma of coffee brewing, usually comforting, turned sour.

He spent the day staring out the window, watching the leaves fall from the trees. Each falling leaf was another day gone, another step towards an unknown future that held absolutely no appeal.