Gemotions

The aroma of freshly printed paper usually soothed his senses, but not today. His new office in the publications department smelled of stale ink and resentment. He stared at the stacks of paper, a stark reminder of his unwanted transfer. He’d loved his job as a proofreader.

He rested his head on his hand, his elbow on the desk. He felt a profound sense of inertia. He had no desire to touch the piles of papers. He felt weighed down, a prisoner in a space he did not want to occupy.