Gemotions

The office was a blur. Mark moved through the motions, a puppet dancing to a preordained tune. The published diary, detailing his youthful anxieties and aspirations, hung over him like a suffocating cloud. He'd tried to ignore the whispers, the knowing glances, but they found purchase in his mind, gnawing at his composure. The fluorescent lights buzzed, amplifying the discord in his head.

He sat at his desk, staring blankly at the spreadsheet before him. The numbers swam, becoming meaningless symbols. He pushed back from his desk, the chair screeching on the polished floor. He needed air, needed to escape the suffocating weight of this reality. He felt a deep-seated weariness, a longing for something he couldn't name.