Gemotions

The fluorescent lights hummed a monotonous tune, mirroring the rhythm of Elias’s heartbeat. He watched the new hire, a fresh-faced kid named Ben, fumble with the stapler. "Just press hard," Elias said, his voice flat, devoid of inflection. He felt a dull ache behind his eyes, the kind that usually presaged a long, boring day. He’d been here five years, and the only thing that had changed was his view from the same window. The sun, as always, beat down on the parking lot, casting harsh shadows.

He'd been told to provide “support and guidance.” That phrase felt like a poorly written instruction manual. He pointed to the training manual. "Read that," he instructed. He then turned back to his computer, the glow of the screen a familiar comfort. He opened a spreadsheet he had seen a thousand times. The numbers swam before his eyes.

Later, Ben asked a question about a particular software feature. Elias sighed, a puff of air escaping his lips. "It's in the manual," he replied, his gaze returning to the data. He was already planning his dinner, a simple microwave meal. The world felt distant, muted.