Gemotions

He whistled a tuneless melody, his feet tapping a syncopated beat against the dusty workshop floor. Liam adjusted his goggles and grinned. His latest invention was humming with barely-contained energy. He was bursting with excitement to share it with his mentor, Sarah. He imagined her insightful critique, the way she'd poke and prod, challenging him to refine his creation. He grabbed a thermos of coffee, already imagining the approving words.

The sign on Sarah's office door was new: "Closed. Permanent." A cold, unfamiliar dread gripped his gut. He pushed the door open to find the room empty, the desk stripped bare. No familiar sketches, no scientific texts.

His hand shot out to the phone. He punched in Sarah's number. The dial tone echoed in his ear. Voicemail. The cheerful, encouraging tone of the recording was all wrong. He hung up, the air suddenly thin and hard to breathe.

He sank to the floor, his invention, a symphony of gears and wires, suddenly feeling useless. The buzzing in his head quieted, replaced by an unsettling stillness. His creative spark dimmed; a little ember of joy was extinguished.