Gemotions

The familiar scent of old books and stale coffee usually soothed him. Today, it was a torment. He stood in the library, staring at the empty desk where Mr. Abernathy had always sat, a mountain of books and papers before him. Now, it was pristine. A clean slate. The absence felt like a physical blow. He felt a sharp, cutting sensation in his solar plexus, a feeling like an injury.

He clutched the worn leather journal in his hand, the one Mr. Abernathy had given him years ago. He had filled its pages with notes, scribbles, and ideas that had been born from their countless discussions. Now, it felt like an accusation. Everything they'd built, all the guidance given. It was all meaningless.

He kicked a nearby chair, the wood scraping harshly against the stone floor. He hated the library's quiet, the enforced hush. He wanted to shout, to tear the place apart. He wanted Abernathy to *appear*, to explain why he'd left him hanging like this.