Gemotions

The office was a graveyard of beige cubicles, and the air was thick with the scent of stale air and desperation. Mark gestured towards a spreadsheet, the numbers blurring before his eyes. It was a task he’d performed thousands of times. He was sure he could do it in his sleep.

He sat back in his chair, the springs groaning in protest. He felt a dull ache behind his eyes, a sensation that had settled in long ago. He remembered the thrill of getting his first paycheck, the feeling of independence. That was a long, long time ago.

"Here's the quarterly report template," he said, his voice a monotone. He didn't look at the young woman sitting across from him, just stared at the screen, at the cold, hard numbers. He thought of all the things he hadn't done, the places he hadn’t seen, the passions he hadn't pursued. He felt a profound sense of… what was the word? Wasted.