Gemotions

It was a Monday, and the sun was shining, mocking me. Professor Davies, my thesis advisor, gone. Leaving. Abandoning me. A cold, hard ball of… something lodged in my throat. I couldn't swallow. I couldn't breathe. The air felt thick, suffocating. I gripped my pen so tightly it snapped in my hand, shards of plastic scattering across the desk.

I spent the rest of the day in a dark room, ignoring emails, and dodging calls. It felt satisfying to watch the pile of papers on my desk grow taller, a monument to my inertia. I knew I should do something, anything, but the effort seemed monumental. I wanted to see him, to explain my position.