Gemotions

The photograph on the desk seemed to mock him. He stared at the image of himself and his mentor, smiling, during a company outing. The memories, usually a comfort, now felt like shards of glass in his memory. He felt a profound sense of loss, a vacuum where a solid presence once resided.

He slammed his fist against the desk, a sharp, angry noise that echoed in the silent room. He didn't care about the pain. He needed to *feel* something. He got up and began to pace the room. He felt restless, as if his skin were too tight. The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken things.

He grabbed his coat and keys, then abruptly turned, running back to the desk. He grabbed a pen and paper. He had to write something, anything, to make sense of the sudden emptiness. He sat back down, pen poised, and then just stared blankly at the page.