Gemotions

A rhythmic thumping echoed in Thomas's ears, the drone of the plane engines a lullaby. His head bobbed, grazing the window. He was meant to be at the book signing, the one that could make or break his career. He dragged a hand across his face, trying to clear the fog. The coffee he’d gulped down earlier now felt like mud in his stomach.

He leaned against the window, the cold glass a momentary respite against the internal heat. Every movement felt weighted, as if he was wading through molasses. His vision swam. He needed to write a great speech, but the words danced away from him, elusive as fireflies.

His mind felt like a vast, empty room.