Gemotions

The antique clock on Elias’s desk ticked with a maddening slowness. He ran a hand through his hair, dislodging a scattering of stray paperclips. He'd been expecting Professor Abernathy to waltz in any moment, humming some obscure Gregorian chant as he always did. Elias had a hundred questions, a dozen observations he’d scribbled down during his research, all waiting for the Professor's keen eye. Now, only a terse email stating Abernathy’s immediate retirement lay unanswered in his inbox. A knot formed in Elias's stomach. He’d left a hastily scrawled note, a thank you, on the desk, but felt it was useless now.