Gemotions

The office air hung thick and stale, a suffocating blanket. David, hunched over his desk, rubbed his temples. The fluorescent lights hummed, an irritating, high-pitched whine that seemed to burrow into his skull. He'd been working late again. He wasn't even sure what he was working *on* anymore.

He found it in the bottom drawer of his desk, the one he barely ever used. A crumpled piece of paper scrawled with his wife Emily's handwriting. *Write a novel*. The ink looked faded, like the idea had long been forgotten.

He leaned back in his chair. He felt like he was drowning in quicksand.