Gemotions

The factory floor was quiet, almost eerily so. The machinery, usually roaring, was silent. Old Man Peterson, the head foreman, had been there for forty years. Now, there was a brief, official letter announcing his retirement. No going-away party, no thanks, no nothing.

John’s hands, calloused and strong, felt weak, trembling slightly as he tightened the bolt on a valve. The familiar weight of the wrench felt unfamiliar. He walked towards the office, the empty space where Peterson had always been. A wave of nausea washed over him. The future suddenly stretched out before him, vast and uncertain, the direction unclear.