Gemotions

The note was stark white against the mahogany of the desk. “Gone fishing. Don’t expect a return call.” Arthur crumpled it, tossing the paper into the overflowing trash. He’d envisioned a lengthy conversation, perhaps a final shared cigar, a passing of the torch. Instead, nothing. Just this curt message.

His hands fidgeted, picking at nonexistent lint on his navy suit. A hollow ache bloomed in his chest, a sensation he hadn’t felt since his grandfather passed. He walked over to the window, staring at the cityscape, each building a testament to ambition and drive. He had envisioned his own ambition and drive one day. Now, the buildings seemed to mock his sudden solitude.

The silence in the office was deafening. He had always taken his mentor's guidance for granted. Now, the silence whispered of the void his absence had created. The open project folders seemed to glare at him. He was alone with them.