Gemotions

The afternoon sun streamed in, illuminating the dust motes dancing in the air. John, usually a man of routine, found himself unusually restless. He tapped his foot incessantly beneath the desk. The silence in the office, punctuated only by the occasional click of a keyboard, felt suffocating. He’d barely eaten all day.

His replacement, a young man named Kevin, was patiently waiting, pen poised over his notebook. John struggled to meet his gaze. It felt like Kevin was peering into his soul. His hands felt clammy. He was supposed to impart his knowledge, to guide this young man, but the words were caught in his throat.

“Right… the… the accounts…” he stammered, running a hand through his hair. His carefully constructed world was crumbling.