Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of Professor Davies’ office hummed, a low thrum that seemed to vibrate directly in Clara’s skull. She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand, the weight of her head a familiar burden. The air conditioning was cranked up to Arctic levels, but she felt warm, heavy. Davies was saying something about funding, deadlines, the usual jargon, but it washed over her in a blurry wave. Her eyelids felt like lead.

"So, I wanted to discuss…" Davies' voice trailed off, then started again. Clara blinked, trying to focus. Her gaze drifted to the dusty diplomas on the wall. They looked so far away.

"…and that’s why I'll be leaving the university at the end of the semester." The words, when they finally landed, felt as substantial as a feather.