Gemotions

The email arrived at 9:03 AM, right after her coffee. *Subject: Transition Plan*. Amelia reread it three times, each pass feeling more unreal than the last. The polite, professional language grated on her nerves. *Assisting in the onboarding process of your successor...*

She slammed her laptop shut. The click echoed in the otherwise silent office, and for a moment she was pleased to have made some sort of noise. Her palms began to sweat, and she ran a hand through her hair, tangling the strands. Her normally meticulous desk was suddenly a cluttered battlefield of pens, papers, and half-eaten granola bars.

She stood abruptly, pacing the small confines of her cubicle. *This can't be happening*, she thought, over and over, the thought a mantra of disbelief. The world was suddenly tilting, threatening to spill her out.