Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the library hummed, a monotonous drone that matched the mood Mr. Jones had been in all day. His promotion had been stalled, and he felt like he was suffocating in the stagnant air. A small, leather-bound journal rested on his desk. “For your stories, Mr. Jones. – Sofia.”

He opened the journal. The first page was blank. He turned the journal over, and he realized he needed to write his own story. He was supposed to be a writer. He had buried those dreams.

He took a deep breath. His breath felt complete. He pulled a pen from his pocket. The relief was a gentle unfurling in his chest.