Gemotions

He stared at the email, the words swimming before his eyes. "Not a good fit," it read. Not a good fit. He’d poured years of his life into this, sacrificed everything. He rubbed a hand over his face, feeling the stubble scrape against his palm. The coffee he’d made hours ago sat cold and forgotten on his desk, the stale aroma doing nothing to rouse him.

He pushed his chair back from the desk, the wheels squeaking in protest. His legs felt like lead weights as he stood. He shuffled to the window, gazing out at the bustling city below. The vibrant energy felt alien, disconnected. Everything felt… muted. He felt his eyelids droop as he watched people rush along the street, their lives a million miles away from his current reality.