Gemotions

He dragged himself through the park, the crisp autumn air doing little to invigorate him. Each step felt leaden, the crunch of fallen leaves under his boots a dull thud against the background noise of the city. He pulled out his phone, intending to text his daughter a simple "goodnight." Instead, the message read, "I’m done." It was addressed to his boss, Mr. Henderson. His stomach clenched. He quickly deleted the text, but the damage was done. He pictured the inevitable conversation, the judging looks, the questions he didn't want to answer. He sighed, the breath misting in the air, a visual representation of his unspoken exhaustion.