Gemotions

The aroma of freshly printed ink hung heavy in the air. Michael showed his replacement, a young woman named Emily, the nuances of the printing press. He'd spent fifteen years watching the same gears turn, feeling the same vibrations. It was a monotonous existence, and now he was supposed to help someone else enter the monotony.

His fingers felt clumsy as he pointed out the delicate adjustments. A dull ache throbbed in his temples. Every instruction felt like a heavy weight he had to lift. The vibrant colours of the posters seemed to mock his own fading palette. The whole room felt suffocating, and the prospect of explaining it all felt utterly exhausting.