Gemotions

The fluorescent lights of the lab hummed, a relentless drone that echoed the emptiness inside Elias. He spun in his chair, the squeak of the wheels grating against his nerves. Dr. Albright, his mentor for five years, gone. Just…gone. No note, no forwarding address, nothing. He'd been looking forward to showing her the latest data, the culmination of months of work. He chewed on the inside of his cheek, a familiar habit whenever things felt…tight.

He’d tried calling her, of course. Voicemail. The automated voice mocking him with its cheerful prompt to leave a message. He hated the sound of his own voice, especially when it was cracking with the uncertainty that had settled over him like a suffocating blanket. He stared at the rows of vials, each one a tiny glass prison holding a portion of his life’s work. He felt a sudden, fierce urge to shatter them all.